The Forensic Anthropologist in the Warehouse
by XedwardismyromeoX
Summary: Booth's worst nightmare comes to life when Brennan is swept away by a menacing enemy from her past. Will everyone come out unscathed? Rated T
1. Chapter 1

**Hi!**

**This is my first Bones fanfiction, and hopefully you like this one**

**sorry that its a little short, normally i'll write something over 2000 words a chapter, but i didn't want to keep going with this one just yet...leave a bit of a cliffhanger so you'll *hopefully* want to read on :)**

**Disclaimer: i don't own anything to do with bones (unfortunately), and if i did bones and booth would have hooked up long ago :)**

**happy reading!**

Sitting alone at her desk in the Jeffersonian, Dr Brennan tapped away swiftly at her keyboard, hoping to finish the latest chapter of her new book before she left for home. Tantalisingly close to her goal, she was typing down her ideas as fast as she could, hoping to get home with enough time to run a hot bath and soak for a while, before sitting down with a book for the night. With a feeling of satisfaction, Dr Brennan typed her last sentence, ran a final spell-check and saved her work.

Rising to her feet, Doctor Brennan slowly made a circuit around her office, flicking off the various electrical appliances and lights that had been left on. As she got back to her desk, she flicked off her computer and scooped her bag off the tabletop along with some files that she wanted to look over that night. Giving the room a final sweep for anything she may have forgotten, Dr Brennan was about to leave when she heard a noise that sounded like footsteps. Looking up curiously, she tried to find the source of the sound, but couldn't see anyone else in the area.

'Hello? Is anyone there?' Her voice echoed off the walls, but was only met by silence. Slightly mystified but not overly concerned, Dr Brennan dismissed the sound as a particularly antisocial member of the cleaning staff and continued on her way out.

Rummaging through her bag as she walked, Dr Brennan made her way down the hallway. She paused for a moment, pulling her bag further open so she could find the keys to her car that had so far been eluding her searching phalanges. As she dug through her bag, she once again thought she heard somebody else's footsteps. Looking up and around her, Dr Brennan was slightly concerned when she found she couldn't see very far around her in the dim lighting. A creeping feeling of vulnerability washing over her, Dr Brennan abandoned her search for her keys and began to walk brusquely towards the staircase, trying desperately to at least look confident and unshaken. This, according to Agent Booth, was a good method for deterring any potential attackers, although Dr Brennan herself had never had any real experience with it before, and didn't know how effective it was-or wasn't.

After a few moments of silence other than her on footfalls and her slightly quickened breath, Dr Brennan thought once more that her imagination was getting the better of her. She paused again and let out a shaky sigh, and began to delve through her bag once more. She quickly located her keys, but also pulled out her mobile, intending to check for any messages she may have missed during the day. Pulling her bag more over her shoulder, Dr Brennan began to walk once again.

Flicking open her phone, Dr Brennan fiddled with the buttons and opened her messages. She was just about to open an unread text from Booth when the sound she had been dreading resurfaced. Pounding footsteps, loud and fast, were running towards her, not bothering to disguise their presence any longer. The folders Dr Brennan had been holding slipped unhindered to the ground, spilling their pages across the floor as she looked frantically around for the source of the sound. Dr Brennan though she saw someone moving along the hallway that she had just walked down, so she immediately ran in the opposite direction, trying to put as much distance between her and her assailant as possible. As she ran, she desperately dialled the only number she had ever bothered to memorise other than her own into the keypad, praying that she had got it right in her haste to dial. Holding the phone as close to her ear as she could as she ran, Dr Brennan skidded around a corner as the number began to ring, inwardly cursing the heels on the boots she had worn that day. Ahead of her she saw the doorway leading downstairs to the car park, as well as a janitor's closet off to the right. She quickly ran to the main door and pushed it wide open, before running back and slipping into the closet, hoping to throw off whoever it was that was chasing her. Leaning against the door just in case her follower tried to open it, she held the phone to her ear with trembling fingers. After three rings, a voice answered at the other end.

'Agent Booth.' At the sound of Booth's voice, Dr Brennan immediately felt safer, but only for a moment.

'Booth!' Her voice must have given away more panic than she intended, for Booth's voice immediately became more concerned.

'Bones? Are you okay? What's happened?'

'I'm at the Jeffersonian, and…someone is chasing me.' She had begun to whisper, desperately hoping to not give away her position to whoever was out in the hallway.

'Chasing you? How- like they want to hurt you?'

'Yeah I…I think so…'

'Bones, where are you?'

'I'm in the janitor's closet-near the stairs that lead to the car park?'

'Yeah, I know the one. Look, stay where you are, I'm coming to get you. Can you arm yourself at all?'

'Will a mop do?'

'It's better than nothing.'

Dr Brennan began groping in the dark, trying to find something to arm herself with somewhere in the closet. With a small satisfied smile she wrapped her fingers around the metallic neck of a mop, grasping it tightly in her hand.

'Yeah, Booth, I've got a…' Dr Brennan dropped out with a loud gasp. Something that felt suspiciously like a hand had wrapped itself tightly around the mop, right on top of hers. She pulled the phone away from her ear, and used the light from the screen to see what was in front of her. The phone illuminated a massive, black hand all but completely obscuring her own. She lifted the phone up, and gaped at the sight before her. A sneering face stared back down at her; an African-American man, at least a full head taller than her who looked much to confident with himself for Dr Brennan to truly believe she had an easy way out of her situation. With a horrifying drop of her stomach, she realised she had fallen into her assailant's trap; he had herded her in this direction, and knew that she would try to hide rather than escape, so they had planted someone here to catch her.

'Gotcha!' The man hissed, and a maniacal grin distorted his features.

At the other end of the line, Booth could almost feel his blood curdle as Dr Brennan's scream rang through the speaker.

'Bones? BONES?' To his horror, he heard Dr Brennan's phone clatter to the floor as it slipped from her grasp. The TV remote he had been holding fell out of his hand and dropped onto the couch beside him as he heard a violent scuffle erupt between Dr Brennan and her assailant, and he stayed frozen in place as he heard someone kick the phone on the ground. His stomach dropped when he heard Dr Brennan cry out once more, but this time in pain rather than in fear. The scuffling sound lessened, and soon stopped altogether. The silence at the other end of the line continued until Booth was almost sure that Dr Brennan and her attacker had left, until he heard a scraping sound indicating someone had picked the phone up. A voice, deep and tainted with a slight Jamaican accent, came through the speaker.

'Mr Booth, whoever you are, I hope you are prepared to never see Dr Brennan ever again.'

And the line went dead.

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**There you go, chapter one with a little cliffhanger at the end for you**

**reviews = love (as long as their nice...otherwise, not so much)**

**so please review, whether its to say how much you liked it (or disliked it, but nothing overly evil please), or even just to tell me about any typos i may have missed :)**

**thanks for reading, and i hope you liked it! :)**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Here's Chapter 2 everyone!**

**I hope you all like it- this is one story i really enjoy writing so i hope you like to read it too**

**thankyou for all the kind reviews that i have received, i really appreciate them :)**

**happy reading!**

Booth was pacing impatiently out the front of the Jeffersonian, waiting with growing impatience for Cam to arrive and allow him access to the 'crime scene'. Having not even been allowed to park his car in the car park in case he accidentally tampered with evidence, he had pulled up illegally directly in front of the building, and had been waiting ever since. Every time a car had sped past, Booth's heart had started to beat marginally faster, only to be let down again and again when it each car merely continued on their routes. Glancing at his watch, Booth let out an exasperated sigh when he saw the hands were nearing 2am.

Once again looking up at the sound of an approaching car, Booth was relieved to finally see a vehicle begin to slow as it approached the building and then come to a halt behind his own car.

'Finally…' Booth muttered under his breath as he ran to the car, seeing Cam getting out of the driver's seat, and Angela, Hodgins and Zach beginning to slide out of the back seat. Lastly, Dr Sweets was in the front passenger seat, seemingly having a wrestling match with his seatbelt. A slight frown appeared on Booth's forehead as he saw all the additional people who had shown up. He quickly made his way over to Cam, grabbed her arm and pulled her slightly away from the group.

'The squint squad? Why do they need to be here?' With an exasperated look similar to that of a mother explaining something to their child, Cam glanced over her shoulder to make sure none of the other people around them were listening before explaining.

'The "squint squad" as you call them are all professional crime scene investigators, and can all be useful in some way to help determine what happened here. Besides, they are all very close to Dr Brennan and once they found out something had happened, I could hardly keep them away.'

Booth opened his mouth to argue, but upon second thought he stopped himself. Any comment he might make about them not being able to work in such a personal crime investigation applied to him as much as they applied to the scientists, so he begrudgingly let it pass. After assembling the small amount of crime scene equipment that they had with them, the group gathered near the top of the driveway that lead down to the car park below. After lighting the various torches and portable lights that people had thought to bring, they began to descend into the car park on foot. Shining their lights around, looking for both evidence and a light switch, the team meticulously began to search. After a couple of minutes of finding very little, Booth was beginning to get frustrated. Brennan had been abducted, and she had called him for help. Help, he felt, he was not giving her. He swung his torch around in a large arc, and in its path he saw a light switch illuminated. He called out, but at the same time another voice rang out, the other one sounding more desperate.

'I think I've found something!'

After rapidly flicking on the lights, Booth ran towards where the voice had come from. He saw Angela, at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to where Brennan had said she'd been hiding, kneeling over something on the floor. As the lights flickered to life he sprinted to her side, dropping to the ground next to her. She merely pointed to the floor before her. A trail of blood spatters ran in a line from the stairwell to one of the car parking spaces. From this space dark tyre marks stained the concrete, leading off towards the exit before disappearing after a couple of meters. Glancing around to see if there was any other evidence near by, Booth's stomach dropped when he saw Brennan's phone lying on the ground on one the lower stairs, obviously where Brennan's assailant had dropped it once he had hung up.

Booth made his way over to the phone, but didn't touch it before snapping on a latex glove, so he didn't tamper with any evidence they may be able to pull off the phone. He bent down and picked up the phone, to confirm that it actually belonged to Bones, and his heart wrenched at the image that she had chosen for her background. It was a photo taken mere days before, by a secretive Parker who had been coming to visit. Bones had inadvertently dropped her phone which had been found by Parker, and while on his way to return it he had seen his father and Brennan on the couch in Brennan's office. Booth had just made a joke and Brennan's was laughing, mirth obvious across her face. Booth was looking fondly down at the laughing face of Brennan, in a way that very nearly betrayed his feelings for his partner. Parker had felt compelled to capture the image before returning the phone, and neither Brennan nor Booth had known of its existence until a day later, when Brennan was trying to find an image she took of her niece.

Booth swallowed hard, trying to contain the emotion that the picture had brought up. He carried the phone over to the group near the blood splatters, who were still looking in that area for any evidence that they might be able to use. Upon seeing Booth holding the phone, Cam scrambled for the small crime scene kit that she had brought with her, and pulled out a small evidence bag. Booth dropped the phone in the bag, before sealing it and placing it beside the crime scene kit. The group continued to search the car park, but after half an hour it became apparent that there was no more evidence to be found in the car park.

After one last glance around the car park, Cam unrolled a length of crime scene tape and, with the assistance of Hodgins, firmly blocked off the entry to the car park from any of the Jeffersonian's employees who would be arriving for work in mere hours. After placing extra tape across the bottom of the stairwell and surrounding the parking space with the blood and tyre prints, the group reassembled and prepared to go upstairs. Ducking under the newly-placed tape, the group followed the blood trail in silence, travelling up the stairs and into the hallway beyond.

'This is where Brennan said she'd be hiding…' Booth trailed off, pointing at the door to the janitor's closet. Sweets, who happened to be closest, wrapped a gloved hand around the doorknob and swung the door open. He stuck his hand in the door and felt around the wall for a moment, before finding the light switch and illuminating the small room. As the room came into relief, Cam let out a gasp, and Angela dropped the torch she was holding with a resounding crash on the floor.

The usually pristinely white walls that were replicated throughout the storerooms of the Jeffersonian were coated in blood red graffiti. The phrase 'Remember ME???' was sprayed across the walls, varying in size so the words could fill as much space as possible with the disturbing message. The paint had run, leaving thin trails down the walls, adding to the creepy effect. The group stood in a disturbed silence, staring at what was before them in disgusted disbelief, despite the fact that they had seen much more gruesome sights at any number of the crime scenes they normally worked at. The fact that the messages, for once, were not angled at strangers but at one of their own troubled everyone present, stunning them all.

Booth was the first to recover, gently tugging the crime scene tape from Hodgins' hand and unrolling a length to block the hallway. Once the others saw Booth move, they all slipped out of their respective reveries and assisted in securing the crime scene. Once the area was blocked from the general public, the group returned to the closet. After another moment of staring at the blood-red graffiti, Booth noticed how confined the space was, and picked up on the impracticality of them all attempting to get in there.

'I think I'll go up to Brennan's office, see if I can find anything there. Anyone want to join me?' Angela nodded, scooping her discarded torch up off the floor to assist them in finding light switches. Zach moved over to Booth's side, and after receiving a curious glance from the man beside him simply stated that he knew the most about the layout of Dr Brennan's office, and would be the most likely person to spot an anomaly in the layout of her belongings or any equipment in the area. Despite feeling the compulsion to correct Zach, to say that he knew the most about Brennan's office, Booth merely silently nodded and led the way towards Brennan's office.

The trio walked along the dark hallway, Booth trailing his light along the walls to try and find a light switch, and Angela lighting up the floor before them so search for any evidence. About half-way between the closet and Brennan's office, the torch's beam caught the corner of a folder. Redirecting her light towards the folder, Angela revealed a spilled pile of reports scattered across the hallway, and a couple of meters away, Brennan's bag lying discarded near the wall, its contents overflowing onto the floor.

'This must have been where Brennan first realised she was being chased…'

'She probably heard her assailant, and dropped her folders and bag in her haste to escape.' Booth, ignoring his emotional attachment for the victim, looked at the information before him objectively to try to infer something for what was before him.

'Whoever was after mustn't have been after money or her phone, or else they would have taken her dropped bag or keys…it must be personal.'

Try as he might to detach himself, he couldn't help his voice breaking slightly with his last word. Swallowing hard, Booth focused his attention furiously on the job at hand, scolding himself for letting his emotions get in the way. It wasn't helping Brennan, he reasoned, to display emotions like these…whatever emotions they were. He wasn't quite sure how deep the emotions he was feeling ran, and whether or not he was merely feeling this way because of Brennan's disappearance…but he was getting off track once more. Shoving the emotion ruthlessly from his mind, Booth continued up the hallway, leaving the other two behind. He wove his way through the empty corridors, but despite looking with sharp eyes, he saw nothing. He finally reached Brennan's office, but found it surprisingly and gallingly in tact. The door was closed, and had automatically locked. He pulled out a key and opened the door with ease, but was both frustrated and relieved to find nothing had been damaged inside. He turned on the light as he crossed the threshold of the room, slowly but alertly observing the contents of the office.

The combined facts that the door had been locked and that nothing seemed out of place confirmed, at least in Booth's eyes, that the attacker had not had anything to do with Brennan here. He sat down with a sigh on Brennan's couch, leaning back against the soft fabric as he ran his hands through his hair. He inhaled deeply, taking in the subtle scent of his partner that lingered in the office. He rested his head in his hands, fighting himself for control over his emotions. He couldn't allow his emotions to take over- at least, not until he was home and away from prying eyes. He looked around the room forlornly, and his eyes came to rest on a collection of photos on Brennan's desk. There were at least a dozen, all showing different scenes; Brennan and her brother as young children, a group photo showing Brennan in a black graduation gown surrounded by classmates and professors, a large Labrador sitting in someone's backyard, but it was the last image in the group that caught Booth's eye. It showed Brennan, himself and the squint squad, and had been taken a few months before, on Zach's birthday. They had been celebrating at a local restaurant, and had got the waitress to take a photo of them all together.

Booth moved over to the framed image and picked it up, looking at the happy faces of the people in the photo. His eyes traced the face of each person, coming to rest on that of Brennan. She was smiling, on the verge of laughter, with on arm wrapped around Booth's shoulders. He had his arm around her waist, and his tickling fingers were what were setting on her mirth. The Booth in the photo was smiling just as much as Brennan, a mischievous glint in his eye.

The real Booth, however, was in no such mood. He ran a finger gently along the outline of Brennan's face, allowing for a moment his grief for the loss of his partner to wash over him. A second later he contained it once more, and placed the photo back down on the desk. A new sense of determination overcame him: he was going to rescue Brennan-his Brennan- no matter what it took. With a deep breath, he straightened his tie and strode purposefully from the office, determined to solve the case and rescue his Brennan as soon as he could.

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**There you have it, Chapter 2!**

**I hope you like it, and i hope i got the crime scene stuff kinda accurate...**

**So what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Notice a Flaw? Feel free to let me know**

**Reviews= Love**

**Love= Me more likely to update soon**

**so if you like it, review it!**

**Thanks again for reading!**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Ladies and gentlemen (although, i dunno how many gentlemen really read fan fiction...)welcome to chapter 3! woot! thanks so much for all the positiveness in your reviews...it makes my day!**

**as always, i dont own bones/any of the characters (what i would do to own booth...*sigh*)**

**Enjoy!**

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Brennan came to with a quiet moan, her body aching and her head throbbing. Her first attempt to open her eyes was unsuccessful, even the dull light from wherever she was lying was too bright for her photosensitive eyes. She tried to roll over from her position face-down on the floor, but a sharp pain shot up her arm when she pushed against it, causing her to slip back to the ground with a thud and a yelp. As she lay there, she felt the surface she was laying on vibrating, giving her the idea that she must be in a car and, sure enough, when she cracked her eyes open for the second time she saw she was in the back end of a small truck with no windows. Trying once again to roll herself over, Brennan gently pushed against the cold metallic floor and managed to roll into a more comfortable position. As she turned, though, she noticed heavy bindings holding her ankles and wrists together. Opening her eyes a little wider, she saw bulky chains binding her ankles, and slightly smaller but nonetheless heavy chains linking her wrists.

Lying there in the semi-darkness, Brennan began to assess her body for any obvious injuries. The throbbing in her head suggested a blow, consistent with blunt force trauma, which seemed to have caused her to loose consciousness. The only other major cause of pain came from her arm, which seemed to have been crushed, most likely when she collapsed from being struck on the head. Although not broken, there would probably be substantial bruising and possible swelling. _And it hurts like hell…_

The car continued to drive, speeding along at a pace consistent with a highway or freeway, without making any turns or changes of direction. Although this provided more comfort for Brennan in the back of the truck, it also provided her with very little insight into where she was or where she was going. The trip was silent other than the road noise; no radio playing from the driver's cabin and no other sounds coming from outside the car. It was almost eerie, the lack of…anything.

Suddenly, the car slowed, before taking a left turn off whatever highway it was travelling on. It continued along its new path, before taking another turn onto what seemed to be some type of backstreet. It twisted and turned, the road quality decreasing so much that Brennan was beginning to bounce slightly against the metal floor. The car suddenly threw an unexpected u-turn at high speed, flinging Brennan across the truck and slamming her into the wall. She let out an involuntary cry at the impact, and winced as she was forced to bear weight on her injured arm. The car had come to a halt, but Brennan didn't have an opportunity to gather herself before the back door was flung wide open. The sun was blinding to her unprepared eyes, so she wasn't ready when a strong pair of hands snaked through the opening, grabbed her ankles, and pulled her towards the door as though she weighed little more than a rag doll.

She was flung unceremoniously over this same person's shoulder, fireman style, and quickly carried from the car. Brennan looked up quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of something- anything- that may give a clue about where she was. Dismayed, all she saw were large numbers of massive and obviously abandoned warehouses, and a man-made river leading off into a bay. A man-made river that was so murky it was almost opaque, and a very convenient place for dumping something that didn't want to be found.

Shoving the thought from her mind and mentally reprimanding herself, Brennan tried to focus on finding something of use, which might be able to provide anyone searching for her with some kind of clue. Seeing nothing obvious, she began to assess herself, to see if she could drop something uniquely hers, but not attract the attention of her captors in the process. Seeing that they were approaching the door of one of the many warehouses, Brennan quickly grasped a bracelet around her wrist that had escaped the chains around her wrist. It was a silver charm bracelet, given to her by Booth for Christmas a few months prior. The bracelet was nothing unique to untrained eyes, but if examined closely, it was very distinctively Brennan's. Booth had personally picked each of the silver charms that were attached to the bracelet: a tiny skull, a microscope, a book, the intertwined letters T and B, and a custom-made Brainy Smurfette.

With a twinge of regret, Brennan slipped the bracelet off her wrist and let it drop to the ground, its fall luckily muffled by the presence of a convenient weed growing out of a crack in the cement. Brennan held her breath a moment, expecting her captor to have noticed her ploy and gather up the bracelet before it could do any good. But, thankfully, he continued to walk without pause. Brennan was only thankful for this fact for a moment, though, as she was quickly carried into one of the large, dark and foreboding warehouses, and the door was closed behind her with an ominous screech.

Brennan wasn't put down until they reached the far side of the room, and rounded the corner of a wall made out of rotting wooden crates. The temporary barrier blocked about a quarter of the space from the rest of the warehouse, hiding it from the view of anyone who may have glanced inside without looking suspicious. She was dumped harshly onto the concrete floor, the chains wrapped around her ankles and wrists clanking together as she thumped to the floor. She had been considering running as soon as she was put down, but the sheer weight of the metal encasing her ankles prevented her from even lifting her legs off the ground.

Her hands were grabbed roughly from behind and twisted above her head. Brennan's eyes shot up, and she immediately began to struggle when she saw what was there. A rusted hook was hanging above her; similar to the one Kenton had suspended her from when he had kidnapped her. She knew, from both experience and instinct, that things were going to start going downhill if she allowed herself to be tied up properly.

She lashed out, using her elbows and knees and any other body part she had available to attack her assailant, trying to disable him. To her utter dismay, it seemed to have no affect on the man behind her. He lifted her arms easily, and secured her chained wrists over the rusty hook, tying it in place so it was impossible to move her hands. He then quickly moved to her chained ankles, hooking the links to a peg that was cemented to the floor, essentially making it impossible for her to move. Brennan struggled a moment longer, but after a few attempts realised that her efforts were futile. He captor was slowly walking around her, and eventually came to a halt before Brennan, letting her see his face for the first time.

His skin was ebony black, his head clean shaven. He wore nondescript clothes, and had a dark tattoo running along his arm. But none of his physical features were what caught Brennan's attention. His eyes were dark and foreboding, and were staring Brennan down with such anger that she felt herself shrink away from him. He stood a moment, looking murderously down at his captive, before lashing out. He viciously slapped her across the face, causing her to cry out in shock and pain.

'You will learn,' he hissed in a deep, Jamaican accent, 'to respect your superiors!'

'Why the hell should I respect you, then?' Brennan snapped without thinking of the consequences, but immediately regretted saying anything. Booth had warned her, after the last time she'd been kidnapped, that if it ever happened again not to provoke her kidnapper into doing anything drastic.

The man's hand flew to Brennan's throat, pressing painfully against her windpipe.

'You will learn to respect me, Brennan!' His hand tightened, cutting off more oxygen from Brennan's lungs. She tried desperately to pull away, to draw breath, but the man's grip was unyielding. Her vision was starting to darken dangerously around the edges when he finally pulled away, and she took a loud and shuddering breath, gasping in as much oxygen as she could. The man paced before her, looking hostile and threatening, waiting for her to stop her coughing and gasping. Once she had settled back into a relatively normal breathing pattern he turned to her once more, but the murderous expression on his face had been replaced with one similar to a host welcoming his guests.

'Doctor Brennan. Tempe…you don't mind if I call you that? You didn't when we last knew each other…such a long time ago, it seems…but I am getting off topic. I've missed you, Tempe, longed for your attentions every day of my life since you left, but you chose to ignore that. Pretended that I never existed, that's what you did. That may have been what you wanted at the time, and I understand that. We were young, stupid. But now…now I think it is time that we get…reacquainted.' Brennan was sure that this speech would have been more informing, as well as more threatening if she actually had any idea who he was. But, as of yet, she was still completely nonplussed as to who the man's identity. Still, she decided not to mention it, to bite her tongue and be a good hostage, like Booth had told her, but some of her confusion must have been betrayed on her face.

The man chuckled, running a hand over his smooth head.

'Tempe, Tempe, Tempe…you don't remember me, do you? Even after I wrote it on the walls and everything…' Brennan was becoming more and more confused with every passing moment, but stayed quiet, hoping to ascertain who this man was by his pending speech.

'I don't get it, Tempe, why wouldn't you remember me? The day we met has been imprinted upon my mind permanently, and it is beyond me how you could forget…How could you forget, Tempe? How!' His voice had risen in intensity and anger until he was shouting at Brennan once more, and fear tainted Brennan's heart as she realised he was going to attack her once more. He raised a furious fist, and Brennan winced away, but the blow never came. Chancing a glance from beneath her wincing eyelids, she saw him hovering before her, his fist still raised, but even as she watched she could see his anger begin to cool ever so slightly.

Brennan internally sighed in relief as she saw him lower his fist, and slowly walk away. He paced before her a moment, before looking back up at her with a small, determined smile.

'Well, we are going to need to correct that, aren't we?' He let the question hover in the air, before abruptly turning away and leaving the area. Brennan could hear his footfalls echo across the warehouse, gradually getting further and further away, until she finally heard the door screech as it was slid open and closed. The shriek of the metal echoed around the large warehouse for a moment, but then there was silence. Nothing stirred; all Brennan could here was herself drawing breath. She didn't even hear the man pull away in his car.

As soon as she was sure that she was going to remain undisturbed for at least a short while, she began to relax the sharp alert that she had been on ever since she had been tied up, and along with that she felt her emotional resilience begin to weaken. Both the logical and mental disadvantages were weighing down heavily on her. She had once heard that if you were ever attacked with the intent of abduction, to never allow yourself to be placed in your attacker's vehicle. Once there, your chances of being found, preventing injury and escaping death dropped exponentially. This, combined with the fact that no one else was around to hear her assault, meant that the likeliness of her being found unharmed was basically zero. A fact which did nothing to improve her outlook on her situation.

On the other hand, Booth had been on the phone with her at the time. He must have heard something, or at least must have become concerned when he heard her drop the phone. She had complete faith in Booth, and trusted him with her life, and was confident that he would find her. Her only concern was if he would find her in time.

_C'mon Booth, __I need you…_

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**Duh Duh Duh!!!! well, it isnt really that much of a cliffie, but yeah...i just wanted to write duh duh duh again :P**

**I hope you peeps out there enjoyed that... if so, share the love and review (wow, i sound like such a hippie...peace out, man...lol)**

**if you didnt like it, my apologies, and let me know what was wrong with it (but dont be too harsh! im merely a fragile teenager!! dont kill me!)**

**thanks a billion for reading, hopefully more coming soon (im on holidays in five days, so i should have a lot more time to write :D)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi all, here's chapter 4!**

**yes, i know, it is kinda short, but it was originally part of a longer chapter...but then that one went WAY too long so i had to cut it in half**

**but, dont fear, that also means that i have finished (basically) the next chapter, so i should be posting it tomorrow if all goes as planned...lucky you!**

**id like to say a massive thankyou to everyone who reviewed...you are all such lovely people, and the praise/advice is really self-affirming! (it also keeps the updates coming faster!)**

**as always, i dont own bones or any of the characters, so fox people dont sue me!**

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Booth was sitting in his office, waiting impatiently for Angela to get back to him with the security footage of the night before. The night had quickly progressed into morning, and although the majority of employees of the Jeffersonian had been denied access because of the crime scene, the squint squad along with Booth had been permitted to stay in cleared areas to continue their investigation. Frustratingly, said investigation was not going as well as Booth had hoped.

Despite there being obvious evidence that the abduction occurred at the Jeffersonian, there was very little evidence that gave away who the abductor was. There were no fingerprints to be found in the janitor's closet, and the car park was clean too. The tyre prints left on the ground were being analysed, as was the paint used to write on the walls, but they were going to take time and weren't necessarily going to lead them anywhere. Their best chance of getting a visual of the guy was with the security footage, and because of that Booth was getting more and more impatient.

As he waited, Booth was re-reading the preliminary report that Sweets had put together of his psychological analysis on the kidnapper. The writing on the wall indicated a previous relationship with Brennan, probably one from childhood or adolescence seeing as the kidnapper deemed it important to ask if he was remembered. The method in which Brennan was taken suggested a negative experience with her in the past, and also indicated that he wished to do her harm. If he had been an old friend that wanted to rekindle a relationship he could have merely called or visited, or if he wished to take her as part of a fantasy to live a happy life together he would have refrained from hurting her during the kidnapping. But, seeing as what Booth had heard over the phone was anything but gentle, Sweets had inferred that the kidnapping was most likely as an act of revenge.

As useful as Booth found this report in his investigation, it was the exact opposite of what he had wanted to hear. Almost any other type of kidnapping would have been easier to trace. If it was a serial kidnapper off the streets he could have been traced through past victims, or if it was a random act the perpetrator would not have thought to cover his tracks. But an act of revenge was premeditated, which provided all types of issues. Whoever the man was would most likely have spent hours meticulously planning his attack, making sure that nothing would go wrong. The man was most likely not a serial kidnapper, so there would be no past experiences to glean information from, and no past victims to question. And, to top it off, whoever this man was wanted revenge, so the longer they took figuring out who he was the more likely it was that he was doing something to Brennan, and the less likely it was that they would find her unharmed.

Or alive.

Booth's head snapped up from the report when he heard heels clicking in the hallway, and he jumped to his feet when he saw Angela approaching his doorway.

'Have you found anything?'

'Only a little, can I use your computer?' Booth nodded and Angela swiftly moved behind his desk, typing rapidly into the keyboard. With Booth observing over her shoulder, she pulled up a video file, showing footage taken from the car park.

'Unfortunately, the man thought to avoid the cameras upstairs, but I don't think he realised that we had implemented them in the car park. After all, they are only a recent addition…' A memory of when Brennan was taken by the Gravedigger flashed across Booth's mind, but he quickly pushed it aside. _One kidnap at a time…_

'…but in any case, we got some footage of the car, and a picture of the back of his head…unfortunately for us, the camera wasn't in the most ideal position to catch a shot of this guy front-on…'

Angela typed something into the keyboard and the video began to play. The camera was angled towards the exit of the car park, but in the lower corner of the image, the top half of a small white lorry could be seen. There was no movement for a few moments, before the back door of the lorry was swung open by someone off-screen. Into the empty space the back of a man's head came into the picture, showing him roughly throwing something into the back. With a jolt, Booth realised that it was Brennan, and his hands clenched into fists at the thought of anyone treating her that way. The man continued to bind her ankles and wrists tightly with heavy metal chains, before shoving her further into the back of the truck and closing the doors once more. He disappeared out of the camera view, before the truck started and sped out of the car park, leaving dark tyre treads stained on the concrete.

Angela stopped the video, and rewound it back to the image of the man's head. His skin was dark, which Booth had previously inferred based on his accent. There was nothing else to be taken from the image; the car had no plates, no markings and nothing remarkable about it. The same went for the man, who wore plain dark clothes and had shaven off any hair that could have been left at the crime scene as evidence. Without his face, they couldn't even try to find a photo ID. Despite the feeling that the image was basically useless, Booth smiled down at Angela in his office chair.

'Thanks, Angela. That should be useful in the investigation…'

'Don't lie, Booth. I know it's pathetic, hardly even worth showing you…but I might be able to draw a general face shape for you. I have no idea what his features look like, but I could probably get something…'

'That would be great, Angela. Thankyou.' Angela gave a small smile and quietly left the room, heading in the direction of her office.

Booth got up after her and shut the door. He walked slowly back to his chair, and slumped down onto the soft leather. He was getting tired- not that he'd let anyone know, but being up all night wasn't helping him concentrate. Nothing was adding up like he'd hoped it would; he thought that with all the crime solving prowess that the Jeffersonian had that they would have been able to find something useful by now. The only piece of hope that Booth had left was the mobile phone, which was yet to be processed. If there weren't any prints on that, then they were basically clueless about who the man was.

Booth leant his face in his hands and gave a deep sigh. Brennan had been missing for hours. It had been ten hours and forty seven minutes, to be precise, since he had received the call from the closet. The fear in her voice had sent shivers down his spine, especially coming from her; the resilient, hardy Brennan, who was never deterred from her work despite how badly the body was mangled or who may come after her because of her investigating. For someone like Brennan to show that much fear was unusual, and it was making Booth very concerned for her welfare.

The video had made things worse, even though it hadn't really shown that much. It solidified the fact that Brennan's kidnapper didn't care about her wellbeing by the way he tossed her around as though she wasn't a living being. It showed he was smart, and obviously had a plan for what was going to happen next. He was organised in a way that worried Booth; in most cases he had investigated the organised criminals were either the ones that did the worst damage, or were the ones that got away. Or both. Booth was desperately hoping that Brennan's captor was neither, but the logical FBI agent side of him expected that the man was probably going to be a hard one to catch.

Deciding that working was better than brooding, Booth sat up straight and opened Brennan's file on the computer. He felt awkward going through her details and past without her consent, but it needed to be done, and he much preferred it to be him looking though her file than someone else that he didn't trust. He found the section that listed all the foster homes that she had been in, and gave a sigh when he saw just how extensive that list was. He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to mentally will away the headache that was forming in his temples. After a moment he sat forward once more, but before he began to work once more he paused.

Closing his eyes and gently clasping his hands together, Booth murmured a quick prayer for Brennan under his breath, hoping that if ever there was a prayer that was to be answered, that it was his. He sat in silence a moment, letting the moment sink in, before leaning forward and picking up his phone. He dialled the number of the Social Services office that Brennan had been attached to and placed the receiver at his ear, hoping that something was going to come from his first call, but expecting that it was going to be a long-winded search instead.

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**There you go, my faithful readers, i hope you enjoyed that snippet of booth angst!**

**i hope that kinda...solidified some stuff that my evidence was pointing towards (i hate it when i read stories that have lots of complex evidence and then the author doesnt really summarise it somehow...especially when people are like "quick! we should look at the dna samples found on the spare pair of socks in the murderers bedroom!" and im like WHAT SOCKS?????????????) dont mind me, im just rambling :P**

**please please please with a cherry on top review, it really makes my day! i promise to reply (unless you dont want me to reply, then i promise i wont...)**

**more coming VERY soon, keep your eyes peeled!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here we go, chapter 5!**

**okay, i hope you people dont mind a bit of brennan-whump, coz that's whats gonna happen in this chapter...i hope i dont turn any of you off the story by doing that :S but believe me, its all for the best, the ensuing b/b moments will be well worth it!**

**as always, i dont own any bones...anything, just my plot :D**

**happy reading!**

Brennan was beginning to get tired; the chains holding up her arms prevented her from sitting down, and ten hours straight of standing was getting to her. Her legs were aching, and she wasn't able to transfer weight from foot to foot because of her restraints, and the muscles in her arms were beginning to burn from the effort of holding them up for such an extended period of time.

She had been left alone for most of the ten hours; the only disturbance came when the Jamaican man came back once during the night, carrying two large bags packed full of unseen objects. He had placed them on a workbench against the side wall, before leaving once more. Brennan couldn't see what exactly was in the bags, but she was putting money on the fact that whatever was in there was not going to be pleasant for her.

The door to the warehouse began to screech its way open once again, sending Brennan on alert once more. She stood up straight and tried to disguise the slight fatigue that was settling in by appearing as strong and defiant as she could. She heard the echoing footsteps cross the warehouse, and eventually the Jamaican rounded the corner of the crate wall. He was carrying a coffee in one hand, and a large wicker basket under his other arm. A smile that did not reach his eyes stretched his features, an act that did not look at all natural on his face.

'Dr Brennan. I hope that your night was pleasant. I myself was rather busy, but that is rather inconsequential. The reason we're here is not to discuss my business, but rather to…well, to help you to atone for your wrongs and short fallings in the past.'

The man walked over to the work bench and placed the basket down there, before walking closer to his captive, sipping on the steaming drink in his hand. The tantalising scent of the coffee wafted towards Brennan, but she tried to ignore it and focus on the man before her.

'What do you want?'

'Ah, such a typical and unoriginal question. I thought you of all people would have been able to devise a query more eloquent than that!'

'You could at least have the decency to answer it.' The man gave a short chuckle, a rueful smile on his lips.

'Ah, Tempe. You could always make me laugh, right from the start. It's a pity that we had to go down this path. But you must learn, it's as simple as that. If only you had listened to me when you were leaving…but no, you went against my advice and that of my brethren, which regrettably brings us here today.'

At the word brethren, something in the back of Brennan's memory stirred. A memory, long since forgotten, from sometime during her foster care years. But, it had obviously been deemed unimportant by her at the time, seeing as for the life of her she couldn't remember what it was. All she could glean from the memory was one thing: that it was a negative experience and that it had been one that she was eager to forget.

'So, Tempe, are you still ignorant as to who I am?' Brennan's silence spoke for her.

'Such a shame. We were so close, and had so much potential…but apparently you did not see that. Well, let me enlighten you. Does the name Gregory Clarke mean anything to you?' Once again a memory tickled the edge of Brennan's consciousness, but stubbornly remained just out of reach.

'Oh, come on, Tempe. You're supposed to be bright! A downright genius, by the accounts I've heard…but still nothing? What a disappointment. Well, maybe after today's…session you might remember a little more.'

Gregory turned away, walking back towards the workbench beside the wall. He reached for one of the bags, and tipped its contents onto the tabletop. Brennan tilted her head to the side, trying to see what Gregory was starting to arrange on the table before him. Brennan felt her stomach drop when she saw what was there: a sheathed knife, a revolver, a box of bullets and, finally, a coiled black whip. Brennan stared at the last object, hoping desperately that Gregory was not planning on using that the way she thought he was. But, for now at least, the whip stayed in place on the workbench, unlike the knife. Gregory lifted the weapon off the table, and slowly slid its cover off, revealing a shining silver blade. He examined it closely, and gave an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction when he finished looking it over.

He slowly began to approach Brennan, who was starting to feel increasingly vulnerable in her chained up position. She reflexively felt herself recoil from the man approaching her, but to her dismay this seemed to anger him further.

'Tempe, you are beginning to try my nerves. Your constant attempts to escape and your feigned ignorance are quickly growing old.' He was beside her now, twirling the knife in his fingers. Suddenly he pressed the blade against Brennan's throat, dangerously close to breaking the skin. Gregory's eyes were dark and pitiless, staring harshly at Brennan's genuinely afraid face.

'It is time that you learnt your place in this world, Tempe. Time for you to atone for those things that you have done wrong, and plead forgiveness before passing from this world. I have been sent to assist you in this, and you will be grateful!'

Gregory slid the blade gently along Brennan's throat and around the side of her neck, tracing lightly along the skin until it reached the collar of her shirt. Unexpectedly, Gregory placed the blade under the collar and yanked downwards hard, ripping the shirt open completely across the back. Brennan reflexively arched her back away from the blade, her skin prickling against the unexpected cold. With a snarl Gregory tossed the blade aside, sending it clattering across the cement floor, and stalked back to the workbench. He roughly yanked the whip off the table, shaking it out of its coil as he stormed back towards Brennan, his merciless face set and blatantly displaying his intentions.

'Gregory…' Brennan's voice wavered with fear and emotion, but her pleading fell upon deaf ears.

'Gregory? No, please, Gregory!' Her voice grew more desperate as Gregory walked straight past her, back to his position behind her. She frantically began to struggle against the chains, but felt herself unable to move and avoid her now inevitable fate.

She heard Gregory give a yell, and heard the whip whistle through the air.

Nothing but the agony registered in Brennan's mind. The pain seared across her back, causing the muscles to spasm and making her back arch, which only increased the pain further. She let out an involuntary scream, and tears stung at her eyes. Before she had even had an opportunity to recover from the first blow the second fell, causing her to cry out once more. She willed herself to stop, not wanting to give the sick man behind her the satisfaction of knowing just how much pain she was in, but every time the unforgiving whip fell against her skin she could not contain it.

All logical thought was fading fast, but excruciatingly, her senses seemed to be heightening. Her tongue could taste the bitterly familiar flavour of blood in her mouth, and she could feel thin rivulets of the same fluid trickling down her back then soaking into her jeans. The tears that were pending only moments before were beginning to trickle down her face, which was wincing in a pain-filled grimace.

'You see, Brennan,' Gregory spat vehemently from behind his captive. The whip fell again with a high-pitched whistle followed by a crack, and yet another strangled shriek escaped from Brennan's lips.

'If you had really been interested in sedating my anger…' the whip fell again, the sounds repeating themselves like some sick song.

'You would have stopped your games…' and again; whistle, crack, shriek.

'Your pretending' and again; whistle, crack, shriek.

'Your lies!' and again one final time.

Gregory stalked back around to face Brennan, and roughly grasped her chin in his hand. She let out a whimper at his harsh grip, but was too afraid to pull away.

'If you had really been interested in preventing that, you would have stopped pretending like you don't remember me. You would have called me as you always did. What did you used to call me, Tempe? WHAT?'

The pain, fear and genuine confusion finally got to Brennan. She let out a strangled sob and shook her head free.

'I don't know! I don't remember you, or anything you've been talking about! I just don't know! Why don't you just let me go? Please!'

'Let you go? Tempe, regardless of whether you remember me or not, you still need to repent for what you've done wrong in the past! When I am done, I will be merciful and allow you to pass from this life, but until that time you will remain my captive!'

Gregory turned away from Brennan, walking back towards the work bench. For one terrifying moment, Brennan thought he was going to gather the revolver off the table, but he merely replaced the now blood soaked whip upon the bench top. He walked back over to Brennan and reached above her head, grasping her hands in his own. He hoisted her down from the hook, once again making it look as though she was little more than a rag doll. As he lowered her arms so they were in front of her, Brennan moaned as the tensed muscles screamed their protest.

Gregory began to lead Brennan away, but she was barely able to walk. She stumbled behind him, leaning heavily against his arm. She didn't have the will to fight him off, even if she had been able to physically. They walked to a large metal door which was heavily bolted closed. Gregory opened the various locks with an array of keys, and swung the door wide open. It led into what was probably once a store room, which had been stripped of any shelves or furniture that may have been there. All that was left was a barren concrete room that was barely larger than a closet, with no windows and only the one entrance. Gregory led Brennan into the space and shook her roughly off his arm, before storming from the room and slamming the door behind him.

Brennan stumbled after Gregory relinquished his grasp on her, before overbalancing and falling to the harsh concrete floor. She lay in silence, listening to Gregory firmly securing the door closed, and then to his footsteps as they retreated across the warehouse and out the door. She continued to lie in silence for a minute more, to make sure she was alone, before allowing her exhaustion, agony and fear take over. Her body shuddered, and Brennan wasn't sure why. It could have been her body going through post-traumatic stress or a paroxysm because of the cold, or possibly both.

The pain was excruciating, and tears of anguish and despair were pouring unhindered down her cheeks. Where was Booth? Brennan knew with all her heart that Booth would never abandon her, even if it meant he spent the rest of his life searching. Brennan didn't doubt his loyalty, but her sorrow came from how long the search might go on for. What if they couldn't find her for months? Years? Would this torture continue? But, more terrifyingly still, what if when they found her they were too late? The revolver lay on the table outside, along with an equally deadly knife that could do just as much damage, if not more.

What if Gregory lost his temper again? What if she said something, or didn't know the answer to another of his unanswerable questions, and it sent him so far over the edge that he would give up on his torturous games and end her life earlier than he had planned?

Brennan resolved that the only way to postpone her impending death was to try to remember whatever she could about Gregory, to try and capture those memories flirting with her mind, cruelly teasing her during her hour of need. With silent tears still running down her cheeks, Brennan pulled her arms up to her chest and curled as much into a ball as her injured back would allow, desperately trying to think, keeping Booth in the corner of her mind as a reminder of why she needed to pull through this.

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**there you are, chapter 5**

**poor brennan, i feel really bad for being so mean to her...**

**okay, not to sound like a spoilt child, but every chapter i've received at least 5 reviews...until the last one. i only got 2 (thanks _tails123_ and _odalys-ortiz _for reviewing, you made my day!)**

**so yeah...maybe it was coz it was rather short by my standards or something...but id really appreciate a few more reviews for this chapter. especially since it took me forever to write, and i found it really hard to word right**

**but yeah, i hope you liked it, and more hopefully coming soon :D**

**thanks for reading everyone :)**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Hey all, heres chapter 6!**

**btw, id like to thank everyone who reviewed...there were so many! thankyou thankyou thankyou times infinity plus one, it makes my day!**

**as always, i dont own anything to do with bones :S**

**happy reading!**

Angela walked into Booth's office to find him slumped over his desk, his head resting on his arms and sound asleep. She gave a rueful sigh, pausing in the doorway. The clock on the wall read 6pm, and Booth had been working all day with little to no success. Angela guessed that he hadn't slept properly in over 36 hours, and wasn't surprised to see him in such an exhausted state.

She slipped quietly into the room, hoping to leave the drawing that she had constructed on the table beside him, when he suddenly jolted awake. His head shot up, a look of disorientation on his features for a moment before he realised where he was. Angela felt her heart ache as she saw the confusion on his face give way to one of sorrow-filled grief, which quickly gave way to one of self-blame. She heard him mutter something viciously under his breath, but couldn't catch every word.

'…pathetic…weak…your fault…Brennan…hurt…just…you…sleep…'

'Booth?' the man jumped at the sound of his name, and looked up, searching for the source of the disturbance.

'Oh, Angela, it's you…'

'Sweetie, you can't blame yourself for what's happening here…' Angela moved around and knelt beside Booth's chair.

'Once you start to think this is all your fault you are going to only become less and less useful to Brennan.'

'But Ange, it is my fault. She called me, asked me for help. She could have called the police, the security people in the building, anyone, but she chose me. And I let her down. She was gone by the time that I got there, taken by some vengeful nutter that we know basically nothing about. So I promised myself that I'd devote my time to finding out where she was. And what do I do? I fall asleep at my desk! What kind of a partner am I, Ange? What kind of a friend…' Booth cut off, his head dropping to his hands.

Angela stayed still, stunned at the outbreak of emotion from the man before her. She quickly snapped out of it, though, and pulled Booth into a hug.

'Its okay, sweetie, we're gonna find her…'

'But what if…what if this man has done something horrible to her? What if he's killed her already? What would I do…?'

'You can't think like that, Booth. Once you give up hope like that you're not going to be able to work properly. You need to keep your hopes up. Wherever Brennan is, I'm sure she's trying to keep optimistic, believing that we are coming to rescue her. You don't want to let her down, now, do you?'

Booth shook his head, before sitting up straight in his chair and stretching his back. He drew in a deep sigh, before vigorously rubbing his face and turning back to Angela.

'Okay…So, have you got anything for me?'

'Not too much. I constructed the basic shape of the man's face, but anything about the features is pretty much guesswork. It won't be much use in finding the guy, but once we have a suspect we'll be able to use this to confirm whether it's the same guy as in our footage.'

'Right, thanks.'

'What about you?'

'I've got a long list of potential candidates, from various places across the country. I've had to call around to each of the foster families Brennan stayed with during her childhood, and try and get any information I could out of them…'

'Anyone stand out?'

'Two different families gave me something that sounded promising, but one more so than the other. The first looked after Brennan when she was first put into the system; they mentioned a guy who fits our very broad description, who was Brennan's psychology teacher at her school. Apparently they got into more than a few arguments over the validity of the science.'

'Sounds like the Brennan we know and love.'

'Mmm, well, apparently one of these arguments escalated to an assault, during which the teacher slapped Brennan across the face…'

'No way!'

'I know. Needless to say, he was fired immediately after the incident, and my research into him indicates he's had a tough time finding work since then…'

'…which gives him a pretty strong motive.'

'Yeah, but this second family's thrown me off him a bit. They were one of Brennan's last foster families before she outgrew the system; they mentioned a neighbouring family that got into a scuffle with Brennan. She came home from school one day, saying that one of the boys from the family had been saying some weird stuff to her, asking her to join them in some form of club. She was okay with that, until they started to bring drugs into the equation. She got in contact with the police, who started an investigation. When the family found out they began sending some very sinister threats to Brennan, which is what caused her to eventually leave that foster family.'

'That sounds promising…'

'Yeah, and get this. The youngest son of the family was put in jail not long after Brennan left, and he only just got out a couple of months ago.'

'Wow, that sounds like our guy…'

'I'm hoping so. But, you never know. The real guy could know about Brennan's history with the family, and have purposely sent a hit man that fits the description of this suspect in to throw us off course…'

'Well, we should probably check this guy out first. We can't go second-guessing ourselves because of the possibility we're wrong…'

'Yeah, you're right. We have to start somewhere, right?'

'That's some great work you've done there, Booth.' Angela gave Booth a reassuring smile.

'Yeah, well, I just hope that it's enough.'

Angela got to her feet, gave Booth's shoulder a reassuring rub, before leaving him to get back to his work. Booth turned back to his computer and pulled up the profile that he had found on the family. It had turned out that Brennan had accidentally stumbled across a prominent family in the area's local drug ring. The two sons had been recorded as stating that they had been sent on numerous occasions to recruit friends to join the family, offering positions to school friends as traffickers or producers of the drugs. That was where Brennan had come into the picture, when she was offered a position in their 'club' as a trafficker, who the family had hoped would attract more female clientele.

Delving deeper into the profile, Booth came across the information he had been searching for: the address that the son was supposed to be living at. He printed off the information as well as the man's photo, and was about to leave when he turned back to the computer. Although he wasn't going to investigate the man, his gut was telling him he should probably print off a photo of the teacher, too. He ran the image off, collected his printing, grabbed his badge and gun, and made for the exit. He was nearly at the door when he walked past the door to Angela's office, and immediately stopped in his tracks.

Angela was sitting at her desk, leaning forward on the wooden surface. Her shoulders shuddered with small sobs, but her face was hidden in her hands. Booth's heart went out to her, he fully understood what she was going through, but inside he also felt a bit of the hope he had for finding Brennan fade away. Angela had remained strong throughout the entire ordeal, refusing to be pessimistic and always being there as someone to talk to. Seeing her, the one that had refused to give up hope, crying at her desk made Booth feel as though it was even less likely that they were going to succeed.

Pushing the thought aside for the time being, Booth slowly walked into the office and rounded the desk, mirroring Angela's own previous actions when he dropped to the floor beside her. Angela had lifted her head for a moment when she heard him walk across the office floor, but had immediately dropped it back down when she decided that he wasn't a threat.

'Hey Ange, you okay?' Without lifting her head from her hands she gave a small nod.

'You're sure?' Angela paused a moment, before slowly shaking her head. She lifted her head to make eye contact with Booth, but after only a moment he pulled her into a hug.

'Hey, it'll be okay, Ange, you saw the new leads I found. I was just about to head out to find the guy's house and question anyone who happens to be home…'

'It's not that.'

'Then what?'

'I know you're gonna find the guy, its just…well, I guess some of the things you were saying kinda got to me. What if Brennan's already dead? What'll we do? What will I do? She's my best friend, Booth…'

'Look, I won't lie to you, Ange. There's a chance that when we find her Brennan is going to be dead, but it's not likely. As horrible as this sounds, the guy is going to want revenge, right? So he's probably going to spend time messing her around, scaring her, maybe even torturing her…but he wouldn't want to just kill her straight away, right?'

'But that's almost as bad! What if he's doing something horrible to her, Booth? We can't let him…'

'Exactly. That's why we need to find this guy as soon as we can. Hey, actually, do you want to join me on this one?'

'What, go with you?'

'Yeah, if you aren't busy, I could really use a second person…'

'Yeah, sure Booth, that'd be great.'

Moment's later there was a gentle knock at the door. Booth and Angela looked up to see Hodgins standing in the doorway, gazing down at his girlfriend with concern.

'Hey Ange, you okay?' Angela nodded and gave Hodgins a watery smile, before getting up and walking into his open arms. Pulling her close, Hodgins pressed a kiss to the top of Angela's head, murmuring comforting words quietly into her hair. Angela pulled back a moment later and gently kissed Hodgins' cheek.

'Where you headed now, Booth?' Hodgins asked, noticing the gun strapped to Booth's belt.

'I was just about to head out with Angela to our main suspect's house…'

'How come Ange gets to go?'

'Coz I thought I could use a companion for this one…'

'Can I come too?'

Booth paused a moment. If it were any other day, or any other case, he would have immediately dismissed the idea. But seeing as it was Brennan they were talking about, and it was such a personal case to all the squints at the Jeffersonian, Booth gave a nod.

'I can't see why not. Hey, how about you go find Zach too? If I'm gonna take they squints, I may as well take all of you…' Hodgins nodded, and with Angela still at his side he left to find Zach.

Booth let out a wobbly sigh, and sank down into Angela's vacated seat. Is heart was in a stage of emotional turmoil, and it wasn't helping him concentrate. Mere minutes before, he had been the vulnerable one, the one being comforted and reassured. Then he had walked past Angela's office, and seen the comforter was now the one in need of reassurance. The sudden jump from helplessness to the responsibility of being the one in control had sent his mind reeling. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up to make it look a little less like he'd fallen asleep, and got to his feet once more.

He hovered in the empty office, trying to collect himself mentally. He cracked his back and neck, and readjusted his tie. Finding himself able to bury the emotions he was feeling, at least for the time being, he walked to the door, and had just stepped out when Zach, Angela and Hodgins rounded the corner into the hallway.

'You squints ready to go?'

'Sure thing, Booth.'

Booth nodded and began to lead the way out to the car park, trying to push away the sudden thought that this was a bad idea. Squints had notoriously bad luck on FBI missions, and he knew that by taking this many he was asking for trouble. But seeing the flicker of excitement, and the relief that actually doing something brought to Brennan's colleagues was more than enough reason for him to not turn them away. As they approached the car Booth drew out his keys and unlocked the doors. He slid into the driver's seat and started the ignition.

'Everyone ready?' For a moment, he was reminded of one of the many field trips that he'd taken Parker on with friends, and a small smile toyed with his lips when he saw almost as much anticipation on the faces of the fully grown adults behind him. After various responses in the affirmative he turned back to the wheel and put the car in reverse.

'Let's go.'

**Hmmm, i hope i got the emotional dynamic kinda right there... and that the suspects kinda gave you some insight into who might be behind it all :P**

**Like it? Hate it? Somewhere in between? id love to hear from you, even if its just to hear your theories on whats gonna happen next (you never know, if you say something really good it might end up in here :P)**

**so yeah...please review, and thanks a billion for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey all, FINALLY i have this chapter up**

**im sorry for the massive delay, but i went on holidays for a while so i couldnt write/post seeing as i didnt have a computer :P**

**hopefully you'll all forgive me seeing as this chapter is 1500 or so words longer than my normal chapters...have i sated your anger? am i forgiven? :P**

**as always, bones is regrettably not mine...if i ever come into possession of it i'll be sure to let you know :P**

**now, on to chapter 7!**

**oh, just before you go on, i thought you might like to know, _the section in italics is a flashback_...just so you know :P**

**happy reading!**

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Brennan woke the next morning, not sure where she was or what she was doing there. Feeling the cold ground beneath her she immediately assumed that she must have fallen out of bed in her sleep. Her mind jumped to the conclusion that, seeing as she had carpeted floors in her bedroom, she must be interstate somewhere on a case, staying in a hotel with Booth. Hearing footsteps nearby, she immediately thought them to be her partners, became slightly irked that her Booth would let her sleep on the floor like this. She opened her mouth to speak to him, and began to roll over at the same time.

'Booth, I…' was all she got out before pain ripped across her back, causing her to cry out in pain and for her eyes to snap open.

When she saw the barren concrete walls surrounding her, and felt the heavy metal chains encircling her wrists and ankles, Brennan's nightmarish experiences from the past two days came flooding back to her. Being in her office, thinking that someone was watching her; calling Booth from inside the janitor's closet; being chained up in a warehouse by a murky river; being tortured by a man who she once knew, but no longer remembered.

Tears stung at her eyes, and she allowed her body to fall back to the position it used to be in on the floor. The sudden flood of emotional memories was too much for her mind to bear, and despite the sleep she had managed to gain she felt both mentally and physically exhausted. All she wanted to do was lie still, go back to sleep, but her tumultuous thoughts and memories kept her painfully aware of everything around her.

The footsteps that had been a faint echo moments ago were becoming louder, and as they approached Brennan's fear-ridden mind wanted only to distance herself further from whoever it was. Biting back a second cry of pain, Brennan began to pull herself away from the door, despite the fact that there was no logical reason why she would be safer at the back wall than she would be in her previous position. Once she reached the wall she huddled in the corner, once again acting off instinct rather than from any logical reasoning.

There was a clanking noise as the various locks on the door were released, and as the door was cracked open slowly light flooded the previously dark room. Temporarily blinded by the light, Brennan could barely see, and once she saw the silhouetted figure reach down to grasp her chained wrists, it was too late to try to get away. The silhouette yanked her roughly to her feet, disregarding the injuries plaguing her body, and ignoring her cries of pain.

As Brennan's eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the face of Gregory come into relief. Her mind and body instinctively drew away, and predominately dormant section of her brain responsible for instinct taking over, remembering the previous day and trying to prevent it from happening again. But, as before, Gregory's strength was immense, and in her weakened state she was unable to get away. A hollow feeling of dread seeped through her mind as the rusted hook chained to the ceiling came into view, along with the table to the side of the room.

The revolver lay, ominous and threatening, glinting in a beam of sunlight. Beside it lay the empty sheath of the knife; the knife itself was still on the floor, where Gregory had thrown the day before after using it to cut off the back of Brennan's shirt. Next came the box of bullets, still thankfully untouched, and with an inward sigh of relief Brennan came to the conclusion that at least for the moment she was unlikely to get shot.

Lastly came the whip; it had been left uncoiled after Gregory had finished with it the day before, and had been thrust into a rough pile on the end of the bench. The mere sight of the thing sent shivers down Brennan's spine, and she could almost feel a new phobia developing as she looked at the tangled coils, covered in her own blood.

Gregory dragged her across the floor and hooked her arms over her head once more, Brennan biting back a reaction as her muscles and injuries protested against the movement. After securing the chains once more around Brennan's ankles Gregory walked back towards the bench, sending Brennan's stomach plummeting in fear filled anticipation of what was to come. But, to Brennan's great relief he seemed to ignore the whip, walking straight past it to one of the bags he had left on the bench top a few nights before. He rummaged into the bag, and after digging around for a moment pulled out a pair of thick leather gloves.

He slid the gloves on, before moving to the large wicker basket that he had left beside the array of weapons on the table. He carefully lifted the lid of the basket, and smiled in satisfaction at what he saw. He replaced the lid and lifted the basket off the table, before making his way back to Brennan. He placed the basket on the floor by his feet with a flourish, before straightening up and looking straight into Brennan's eyes. With a sudden lurch in her stomach, she realised that overnight she seemed to have manifested a strong fear for the man, so intense that she couldn't look at his face without beginning to tremble.

'Tempe,' Brennan winced involuntarily as he spoke her name, 'I hope your night was restful…' Brennan would usually have responded, whether out of wit or from her literal understanding of what he had said, but she was both surprised and concerned when fear prevented her from saying a word.

'Whatever is the matter, Tempe? Why no response?' He examined her for a moment, before a look of dawning crossed Gregory's face.

'Why, Tempe! I never took you for the type to develop fears! When I knew you, most often you were the most resilient person I had the opportunity to spend time with…' Gregory removed a glove from one hand and slowly lifted it to Brennan's face, splaying his dark coloured fingers against Brennan's porcelain skin. Brennan felt her skin burn beneath his hand, and she winced at the feel of his callused fingers against her cheek. She could feel herself trembling, but tried desperately to hold herself still, resisting the urge to throw herself away from the man and attempt yet another escape.

Gregory let out a chuckle, clearly overjoyed with his new advantage over his captive. He withdrew his hand and replaced his glove, before kneeling down beside the basket on the floor.

'Well actually, Tempe, luckily for me an acquaintance of mine has let me in on one of your flaws, which will hopefully be useful in your recollection of my identity. I had quite forgotten this fear of yours, but my…associate was kind enough to remind me.' As he spoke Gregory lifted the lid of the wicker basket, and slowly placed his hands inside. Brennan's confusion about his actions rapidly changed to all-encompassing terror when she saw what he was lifting from the basket.

A thin, shiny, black snake was resting in Gregory's hands, its eyes glinting ominously. Brennan let out a terrified gasp when she saw the creature, which turned into a shriek of fear when she saw its tongue dance quickly out of its mouth. Trying to ignore the debilitating pain shooting across her back, Brennan threw all her weight against the chains, just as desperate to get away from the snake as she had been the day before to get away from the whip.

Her mind was overloading with fear; the initial dread from seeing Gregory's face and hearing his voice was now coupled with her old but by no means less potent phobia of snakes, and these combined with the situation she was in was almost too much for her mind to bear. Tears burned at her eyes, but whether it was from the pain her back was in due to her movement or from her intense fear Brennan wasn't sure, and if she was honest with herself she didn't really care. Incoherent shrieks escaped her lips, but Brennan didn't even realise that it was her own voice crying out. But, try as she might, she was unable to move very far from the hissing creature before her.

'Hush, hush, Temperance. Screaming will not help repel our friend here; he has no ears after all…' Gregory spoke in a quiet voice, sounding as though he was merely conversing with a friend over dinner. He took a step closer, extending his arms towards Brennan, letting the snake move its head in her direction. Panic was encompassing Brennan; the chains prevented her from moving any further away, but the snake was still coming closer and closer, until it was mere centimetres away. It seemed to inspect her face, its repulsive tongue flickering through the air until it nearly brushed her cheek.

Then, painfully slowly, the creature began to slither off Gregory's hands, reaching towards Brennan's shoulder. Brennan's earlier trembling made a reappearance, jittering her limbs and sending her teeth chattering. She followed the snake with eyes widened by terror, before she felt the smooth scales of the creature's underbelly brush against her bared shoulder. She jerked herself away, another scream escaping her lips. The snake hissed loudly, apparently unhappy that its new resting place had moved so suddenly from beneath it.

'Tempe, you shouldn't provoke our friend like that. He's been very tolerant so far, but if you aggravate him much more I'm sure he's going to lose his patience-very quickly.' The words barely registered in Brennan's mind, which was reeling from the events of the last few hours. Firstly awakening, believing that she was safe in some hotel with Booth, and then having that brief dream ripped away from her; returning to the location of the previous day's torture, seeing the array of weapons intended for her lined up on the table, some already stained with her blood; the sudden realisation of her newly formed fear of Gregory, and having it manipulated against her; and finally, having her oldest and strongest fear thrust upon her in such an unexpected manner, without warning…flashes of each fear, memory or emotion were bombarding her senses, rendering her close to incapacitated.

The snake extended its thin body once more, but when its scaly skin pressed against Brennan's neck this time, she somehow managed to restrain herself from pulling away completely. She turned her face away, not trusting herself to look at the thing without losing her cool and possibly getting bitten. The creature's body continued to slide away from Gregory's hands, wrapping itself slowly around the back of Brennan's neck, before beginning to poke its head across her other shoulder. Not knowing where to put her head, Brennan faced forward with her eyes clamped tightly shut, trying to let her mind focus on anything other than the sickening sensation that was the snake's body across her shoulders.

'See, Tempe? Not so bad, is it?'

Brennan's eyes flew open, the words triggering such shock in her that she almost forgot about the creature across her shoulders. The words triggered a memory, one from way back in her foster care days…

'_Come on, Tempe, hurry up!' I looked up with a smile_, _seeing Clarky standing at the top of the hill, a teasing expression on his face._

'_Just because I don't feel compelled to run everywhere all the time…' I retorted under my breath, but still obliged by quickening my pace. When I came level with Clarky he wrapped an arm across my shoulders, leading me down a thin dirt path into a small, wooded valley._

'_Where are we going?'_

'_I told you, Tempe, its going to be a surprise. About that club my brother's and I have made…I thought you were interested in joining…?' Glancing sideways I could see the hurt on his features, and wasn't quite sure how to respond._

'_I…of course I do.' By the way his features cleared of concern I gathered that my response was acceptable._

_Minutes later we rounded a last clump of trees before entering a clearing, in the middle of which stood a run down log cabin._

'_We…we aren't going in there, are we?' The place looked a bit unstable, certainly exposed to the elements, and had more than a few smashed windows and damaged walls._

'_Yeah, we are…is that a problem? It's perfectly safe…'_

'_No, it's just…I've heard that in these parts…well, snakes have been known to inhabit abandoned buildings…' __Clarky let out a relaxed laugh_

'_Tempe, don't worry! My brothers and I cleared this place out years ago when we first found it. We've been using it as a…base, of sorts, ever since. I haven't seen a snake in here in the last 6 months, at least.'_

_I quickly ran the idea through my head, checking the logistics of his claim. After a moment I slowly nodded, and let him lead me inside._

_As my eyes adjusted to the different light, I tried to get my bearings as well as I could. By the window I could see Gregory's two brothers, Nick and Andrew, who both looked up at the sound of us entering._

'_Greg, is this…?'_

'_Yeah. Nick, Andrew, this is my friend Tempe.'_

'_So…you joining our "club", are you Tempe?' Andrew said 'club' with a strange intonation, which earned a chuckle from his two brothers. My eyes were quickly adjusting, and I was beginning to see better inside. The wall to my left was made completely of windows, allowing sun to shine through on to a collection of plants sitting on a tabletop. Along the wall directly in front of me was a long bench, covered in a strange array of scientific equipment; beakers, Bunsen burners and, confusingly, a selection of cooking pots and pans. And lastly, along the wall where Nick and Andrew were seated, were a couple of ratty armchairs, two of which were occupied by the brothers. As they sat they had a collection of small plastic bags in front of them on a coffee table, next to a larger bag which was filled with a fine white powder._

_The strange collection of objects confused me, and I couldn't imagine what kind of club would possibly require such an unusual anthology of items. I was snapped out of my reverie when Clarky squeezed my shoulders._

'_See, Tempe? Not so bad, is it?' _

'_What…what are they doing?' I took a step closer to where Nick and Andrew were seated, but stopped in my tracks when Nick's eyes snapped up from his work._

'_You haven't told her?' The angry edge to Nick's voice was tainted with fear, and when I glanced at Clarky's face I saw concern that hadn't been there before._

'_I…no, I was going to wait till she got here…'_

'_What if she decides to go against us? What if she tells the cops? This could jeopardise our entire operation!' Nick continued to shout, but I tuned him out slightly. Why would I be telling the cops about this club? Were they doing something wrong? I took another look around the room, trying to see the illegality in their actions._

_Suddenly it clicked. The plants, the scientific equipment, the strange white powder…this club was the headquarters of the local drug ring, and I'd just been invited to join._

'_You're drug lords?' I shrieked out, in hindsight probably louder than completely necessary._

'_Tempe, don't freak out! Its okay, we've been doing this for years, and have never got caught…'_

'_Oh my God…' despite the fact that I wasn't completely sold on any religion, I felt a statement such as this was necessary. I began to back away, feeling for the doorknob behind me._

'_Greg…'I reverted to his real name, any joking atmosphere from earlier in the day completely evaporated._

'_I…I can't do this…its wrong…'_

'_Tempe, please…' but that was all I heard. I flung the door open and bolted back up the hill, my mind reeling with the shock of what I'd discovered, as well as the uncertainty of what to do next. Should I report my best friend? Or should I allow him to keep distributing illegal substances around this small town? Barely a minute later I had made up my mind, and quickly __altered my course from going home to the quickest route to the police station…_

'Clarky!' Brennan gasped, staring at the man before her in disbelief. His hair was different, and his face had aged, but now Brennan thought about it she was sure it was him.

'Finally! I was thinking you must have had amnesia or something, but you've finally remembered me…was it really that hard, Tempe?' Gregory moved his hands towards Brennan's throat, and for one terrifying moment she thought he was going to attack her, but he merely reached for the creature that had settled on her shoulders. He gently lifted the snake from Brennan's body, and as the creature came away Brennan let out a shaky breath she didn't even know she was holding.

'Now, Tempe, do you understand my anger? My need to have you punished for your betrayal?'

'What? No! What you were doing was wrong, and illegal. I work with law enforcement now, and my mind hasn't changed since I reported you to the police.'

There was silence for a moment, both Brennan and Gregory shocked by the outburst. But when Gregory's face darkened with anger, any confidence that Brennan may have gained dropped away in an instant.

'Here I was, thinking that I had finally drilled some respect in to you,' Gregory's voice was full of hatred and anger, and although he was being gentle with the snake he was returning to the basket, Brennan was beginning to fear for her safety once more.

'It seems, though, that I was mistaken. Well, we'll just have to try again, won't we?' He rose from the floor with the basket in his hands, and walked it over to the bench by the wall. He placed it down gently, checking the lid was secure, before yanking the gloves from his hands and throwing them aside. He grabbed the tangled mess that was the whip, and shook it out as he walked back to Brennan. The same, all-encompassing fear from the day before filled Brennan's being, and her newly-found phobia of the man before her returning in full force.

She gave a half-hearted tug on the chains holding her in place, but knew the attempt was futile. As Gregory swiftly marched around to his place behind her, Brennan tried to picture Booth in her mind. His face, his voice, and the feel of his hand gently resting against the small of her back were all things that she suddenly realised gave her some solace in her dire situation, and she tried desperately to hold on to these thoughts, even as she heard the dreaded sounds of Gregory preparing to attack her once more. With a jolt, the reality of her situation hit her. Maybe she would never see his face again? Maybe she might have heard his reassuring voice, or felt the guiding touch of his hand for the last time? A silent tear rolled down her cheek at the thought, but Brennan tried to push the thought away. Trying to empty herself of such emotion, Brennan steeled herself for the physical barrage that was about to begin, and as she had the night before, kept Booth in the forefront of her mind, as her beacon of hope that -sometime- this torture would end.

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**aw, poor brennan...at least she knows who shes up against now...**

**i hope you all enjoyed that...god knows it took a while to write :D**

**so, hopefully you'll know the drill by now...love it, hate it, suggestions? send any thoughts (whether positive, negative or helpful) off to me in a nice little review :D**

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**thanks for reading!**

**(*g, i do realise i just quoted my least favourite teacher, i can hardly believe it myself, but i felt it was appropriate...lol)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi all, hope you summer/winter has been bareable...but from what ive heard, there have been some crazy blizzards in America, and here in Melbourne we just had a massive heat wave...oh well**

**sorry that this hasnt been updated for a while, but i went away into the country for a while...i wont bore you with the details, but there was no internet *shrugs***

**but, like the last chapter, this one is abnormally long (over 4000 words!), so hopefully that makes it all okay :D**

**as always, i dont own bones. as soon as i come into possession of it, i'll let you know (we can have a party or something) lol**

**enjoy!**

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With a sigh Booth started to pull out from the Jeffersonian car park. He stifled a yawn; despite his experience in staying awake for extended periods of time, his fatigue was beginning to get to him. But he couldn't sleep, not with Brennan still out there somewhere, in the clutches of some vengeful maniac from her past. But still, his mind reasoned, driving this tired really can't be good for you. And, just as this thought crossed his mind, a figure suddenly stepped out in front of his car.

Slamming on the brakes, Booth only just managed to avoid hitting the person in front of him. Any other day, he would have checked if someone was coming, and probably wouldn't have been driving out of the car park at such speed, but a combination of impatience and fatigue had made him slightly careless. Yanking on the handbrake he hopped out of the car, and let out a loud sigh at the sight of his near-victim. Dr Sweets was standing in front of the car, pale as a sheet and staring at the huge fender attached to the front of the car. Booth winced as he heard a loud squeal from beside him, and very nearly let out an audible groan when he saw Daisy running towards the psychologist.

'Sweets! Baby, are you alright?'

'Yeah, Dais, I'm fine…'

'Oh thank God! I thought I'd lost my Sweetie-weetie…'

'I could never leave you, my little Daisy-flower…'

'Urgh, as corny as this is, we've got a case to investigate, so would you mind getting out of the way of my car?' Both Sweets and Daisy perked at the word 'investigate', and were suddenly more interested in Booth than they were in each other.

'Investigate?'

'Yeah, we're going after a couple of suspects…'

'We as in…?'

'The squint squad and I…'

'Can I come? Please?'

'I dunno…'

'Come on Booth! I could help, I promise! I could construct a psychological profile on anyone we come across…' With a sigh Booth held up his hand. Not really wanting to hear any more, Booth made a hasty decision, hoping to get on his way as soon as he could.

'Alright, I get the picture. Get in the car, we have to get going.' With a quick goodbye kiss from Daisy, Sweets made his way around to the back of the car. Booth got in the drivers seat to find that Angela had moved to the front passenger seat, but when he glanced over his shoulder he saw Hodgins and Zach sitting firmly in their window seats, and Sweets hovering impatiently beside Zach's open door.

'What's the hold up?'

'Zach won't move into the middle seat.' Booth slowly turned to Zach, his eyebrow quirking questioningly.

'When in a moving vehicle, it is 78% more likely that a middle seat passenger will sustain severe injuries in the case of an accident. I'm not moving.' Zach looked slightly nervous about his protest, but stayed firmly in his seat. After a moment of awkward silence, Sweets let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

'Fine! I'll just sit in the middle…' and with that he unceremoniously began to climb across Zach to reach the centre seat. After a few moments of shuffling, Sweets settled in his seat with a sigh. Booth impatiently revved the ignition and drove out on to the main road.

After a few moments, Sweets cleared his throat and broke the slightly uncomfortable silence.

'So, Agent Booth, what exactly are we investigating today?' Booth pulled the files he had printed out of his pocket, unfolded them and handed them to Ange, who was sitting in the front seat beside him.

'Mind explaining, Ange?' She took the sheets from his hands and turned to face the back seats, but had to suppress a laugh at the sight before her. Hodgins, Zach and Sweets were now crammed into the back, and were as tightly packed together as a tin of sardines. Sweets, sitting in the apparently 78% more dangerous middle seat, had his long legs protruding up so his knees were nearly next to his ears. Hodgins and Zach were on either side, so close to their respective doors that their faces were basically pressed against the glass. With a subtle clearing of her throat to disguise her mirth, Angela began to explain.

'Well, guys, we are going to enquire about a suspect relating to Brennan's case. The man –Gregory Clarke- has some serious history with Brennan; his family were into making and dealing drugs, and when he asked her to start dealing for him she reported the whole thing to the police…'

'I'm betting that didn't go down well…'

'Not really. Their threats where what eventually caused Brennan to move on from that foster family.'

'Ouch.'

'Yeah. Then after that, we're planning on going to see the second suspect -a man by the name of Nicholas Freedman- aren't we Booth?' Booth gave a curt nod, not taking his eyes off the road.

'What has Mr Freedman done to warrant our suspicion?'

'He was Brennan's psychology teacher in high school…'

'I always knew psychology was a rotten subject' Hodgins muttered darkly under his breath, throwing a suspicious look at Sweets across the car.

'Well, this guy was very opinionated about his subject, and when he came across our Brennan…'

'I'm betting it didn't go down so well.'

'That could safely be the understatement of the century. There are numerous reports of those two arguing strongly over various points of the subject, but at one point Brennan pushed the guy too far. The man slapped her across the face, and the ensuing assault report filed by Brennan's foster parents resulted in Mr Freedman being fired. Ever since then he's had difficulty finding work.'

'No surprises there…'

'But at this point he is our secondary suspect, Mr Clarke being our primary.'

'What makes you so certain that Mr Clarke is a more worthy primary suspect than Mr Freedman?' Zach spoke for the first time since they entered the car, a thoughtful expression on his face.

'Umm, Booth?'

'What?'

Booth snapped out of the reverie he had subconsciously slipped into at the sound of his name. Angela gave him a slightly concerned look before repeating her question.

'Zach just asked why you suspect Gregory Clarke over Nicholas Freedman…?'

'Gut instinct…'

'That's hardly a…'

'Look, Zach, after working in this area for the length of time I have, you get a feel for the kind of person responsible for these things.' Booth answered in a snappish tone, but moments later regretted his short temper. There was a beat of awkward silence, before Sweets spoke up.

'From a psychological point of view, Zach, either suspect could be responsible. They both have a motive, and they both fit the description of the man that was caught on the video footage. In any case, if this first guy ends up being a dead end, we can move straight on to the second suspect.'

The car fell into silence, but before it had a chance to develop any awkward qualities Booth slowed the car, before coming to a halt before a house.

'Alright, kids, let's go'

'Kids?' Booth glanced into the back seat at Zach's question, before letting out a sigh.

'Fine. Three squints and…' he gestured at Sweets, 'a twelve year old. Happy?' Not giving Sweets a chance to say anything Booth got out of the car and began to make his way up to the house he parked in front of. He was halfway up the garden path when he realised that he was alone. Looking back over his shoulder, he noticed the four scientists hovering near the car, looking very uncertain about what they were meant to be doing. Inwardly sighing, Booth beckoned for Angela to join him, and called for the other three to wait in the car. The pair made their way up the path, and Booth knocked sharply on the door.

They heard footsteps coming towards the doorway, and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with dark skin. Booth's mind reeled at the sight before him, and Angela let out a tiny gasp.

'Yes? How can I help you?' Booth stood stunned; before him was not the suspect that he had planned to visit, but Nicholas Freedman.

'I…um, what I mean is…'

Suddenly he felt Angela's arm around his waist, and heard a soft giggle escape from her lips.

'Sorry about my husband, he's not much of a public speaker. I'm sorry to intrude like this, but I'm afraid that we are a bit lost. You see, we were trying to find the…the…' Angela's nerve seemed to falter when she came to the sudden realisation that she didn't have a location in mind, but luckily Booth had caught on to what she was doing.

'The nearest hospital. Angie here needs an ultrasound.' The confusion on Nicholas's face cleared, and a smile crossed his face.

'Of course. One moment, and I'll write the directions down for you.' Nicholas took a step inside, pulling a pen from his pocket and grabbing a piece of paper from a vanity standing near the door.

Booth placed his arm around Angela's waist, but gave her a playful shove with his hip when he saw the suggestive smirk on her face. Moments later Nicholas was back at the door, holding a piece of paper with a short list of instructions written across it. After talking the pair through the instructions he handed them the paper.

'I hope this helps.'

'Thank you, sir, its certainly more helpful than my husband's navigational skills.' Nicholas chuckled quietly.

'Why, thank you miss. Good luck with your baby.' And with a final smile, Nicholas closed the door. Angela made to pull away from Booth, but he held her firmly to his side. A quick glance at the window next to the door had show a gap in the curtains, and the rustle of movement behind the cloth them told him they were still being watched. Leaning in to her ear, he plastered a suggestive grin on his face.

'Gotta keep up the act,' he whispered in her ear, 'now laugh like I said something dirty…' Angela obediently let out a playful giggle, and the pair turned and walked back down the path. They returned to their car and drove away, ignoring the comments from their co-workers in the back seat saying that they were driving in the wrong direction to return to the Jeffersonian. Booth drove the car to the end of the street and turned the corner, before pulling over to the side of the road.

'What the hell was that all about?' Hodgins' voice was filled with confusion, but also tainted with the smallest amount of jealousy.

'That was the wrong suspect.'

'What, did you go to the wrong house?'

'No, I don't think so…' Angela pulled the information sheets on both suspects from her pocket, and scanned through the information.

'No, you definitely went to the right address…'

'So that begs the question, what was Nicholas Freedman doing at Gregory Clarke's house?'

'I don't know, but I think it might pay to give Mr Freedman's residence a call.' Booth pulled back out into the traffic, now heading towards the correct address for Nicholas Freedman.

'I still don't get it; have you two hooked up or something without telling us?' This time when Hodgins spoke, the question was not only tainted with jealousy, but with hurt.

'Look, Hodgins, we didn't want that guy knowing that we were after Gregory Clarke, in case they are somehow in this thing together…'

'How does that add up to you guys flirting with each other?' Angela turned around in her seat, smiling softly at Hodgins.

'Hodgins, sweetie, so he didn't know we were investigators, we came up with the cover story that we were a couple looking for the local maternity ward. It was the first thing that either of us came up with. It was just an act.'

'Just an act?'

'Yes.'

'You sure?'

'Of course, Sweetie.'

'Oh…that's okay then…'

'You know, the manner in which you asked those questions perfectly demonstrates an example of…'

'If you say the word 'insecurity', Sweets, I'm throwing you out of my car. While it's still moving.'

'Sorry, Agent Booth' Sweets mumbled, looking guiltily down at his hands.

'Good…he's a conspiracy theorist, for crying out loud, what did you think he was going to make of that?'

'He is still in the car, you know…' Hodgins added in, making Angela smile.

This car trip being substantially shorter than its predecessor, Booth soon pulled over in front of another house. Even as they got out of the car, it gave off the distinct appearance of having been empty for a while. There was an accumulation of mail protruding from the letter box, and large clumps of dead leaves were scattered across the front lawn. Gesturing for the entire team of squints to follow him this time, Booth made his way cautiously up to the door. His heart began to beat faster; could this be the place where they were keeping Brennan?

Booth approached the door and hammered against the wood.

'Federal Agents! Open the door!' He slammed his fist against the wood again, but a minute later there was still no response.

'Okay, I don't think anyone's home…'

'Does that mean we can have a poke around?'

'Sweets! That's illegal without a warrant, isn't it Booth?' Angela turned to Booth, and was shocked when he gave a non-committal shrug.

'Well, if we were actually searching for evidence, anything we may find could possibly be disregarded from the investigation, but if we thought we heard a suspect…' Booth paused and there was silence, until a bird let out a solitary caw.

'Why, I think I heard someone in the backyard…Sweets, with me, you three, go around the other side.'

The scientists paused a moment, before complying with their questionable orders. Booth and Sweets walked to the left of the house, following the contour of the walls around to the backyard, peeking in windows wherever they could. But all their rooms came up clean, and the backyard was empty of anything; merely a square of grass with a rusty clothesline in the centre. Booth quietly jogged up the back stairs onto a patio, and moved over to the back windows, desperately trying to see something inside that could be considered useful.

'Are you gonna break down the door?' Sweets asked enthusiastically, coming up behind Booth. With a painful jolt Booth remembered having a similar conversation with Brennan, but pushed the thought aside.

'I'd prefer to have a reason first; the paperwork for unauthorised entry is astronomical…'

'Booth!' Angela's voice rang loudly and urgently around the side of the house, and both Sweets and Booth quickly made their way around the side of the house. They saw Angela, Hodgins and Zach all crowded around a small window, and all staring at something inside. Booth felt his stomach drop as he saw the expression on all their faces: horrified shock. Booth ran down to join them, desperately hoping that his worst fears were not about to be confirmed. He pushed his way to the glass, and almost let out an audible sigh of relief when he didn't see a body inside. But when he focused on what the squints had found, any feelings of relief that he may have been experiencing disappeared.

Booth ran back around to the back door, and with a deep breath slammed his shoulder into the back door. The wood creaked loudly, and when Booth slammed his weight against the wood again the door gave way and flew open. He ran through the back room and into the hall, flinging open doors in an attempt to find the room. Inside the third door Booth found his target. The room itself was rather small, with a small bed against one wall, a messy desk against the wall opposite and bland grey paint on the walls. But none of these features were what drew Booth's attention; it was what was on the walls that had warranted his unauthorised entry.

The walls were plastered with pictures, newspaper articles and computer print-outs, almost completely obscuring the dull paint below them. In any investigation this type of obsession would have been disturbing, but the subject of the imagery was what made Booth's stomach drop in dread.

Hundreds of photos of Brennan were staring down at him, from a huge variety of sources: publicity photos from newspapers; Polaroid snapshots showing Brennan standing next to a fan; zoomed in images of Brennan in a variety of locations, taken from through plant branches or grocery shelves; and even a photo taken from the back of one of Brennan's books, in a pose which she had more than once complained about because of the 'sexy scientist' image it implied.

Booth ripped his eyes away from the sight before him, pulling out his cell phone just as the squints followed him into the room. Trying desperately to ignore Angela's gasp and the profanity that escaped Hodgins' lips, Booth made a hasty request for back-up, and for a team of investigators to come and gather the evidence in the room. Flipping his phone shut, Booth made his way closer to one of the walls, examining the photos plastered there with barely suppressed disgust. A small frown danced across his features when, as he approached, he saw discolorations on the images before him. Leaning in closer to examine the markings more closely, he quickly discerned what the markings were, and swore quietly under his breath. On every single image, in thin red pen, various threats and symbols were scratched into the paper. On some photos, mainly the headshots of Brennan, death threats were etched onto the paper, as well as crude marks on the face such as cartoon scratches and bruises, even the occasional dagger protruding from the image's chest. But, disturbing as these images were, they were not the ones that drew Booth's attention. Shots that included obvious locations had paragraphs of annotations next to them, and when Booth leant in to read the messy scrawl, he saw that they were detailed action plans, suggesting different ways in which to ambush Brennan at each given location

Glancing down to the desk he was leaning over, he saw a small collection of photos and documents lying atop the clutter, and pulling a spare latex glove from his pocket to prevent evidence tampering, he picked one image up off the desktop. It showed Brennan on the platform, leaning over a collection of bones. The sight itself wasn't that unusual, but the large paragraph written beside the image was what made Booth's heart sink. The scrawl on the paper described a route to reach the platform, and also indicated a hiding spot, all in minute detail. On the sheet directly below the image was a floor plan for the Jeffersonian, and highlighted in yellow ink was a route leading towards the janitor's closet. With a jolt, Booth recognised it to be the precise path that the squints had inferred Brennan had run on the night of her kidnapping. The yellow ink lit up the paper until it reached the janitor's closet, and from there blue ink lead along the rest of the path to the parking lot. Temporarily putting aside his concerns about how exactly these people had managed to get their hands on a copy of the blueprints of the building, Booth began to shuffle through the papers on the desk, hoping to find some clue that might lead them to where they were keeping Brennan.

He was about to give up on his search when a small scrap of paper caught his eye. He hastily grabbed it off the desktop, and squinted to read the messy scrawl printed on the scrap. It was a single sentence, but when Booth finally deciphered the script, his heart soared with what he had found.

_Take the highway south, and take the turn-off to the abandoned warehouses._

Despite the fact that he didn't know which highway the note described, and which warehouses were the ones the instructions told him to turn off to, he was elated that he finally had a lead. Tyres screeching outside let him know that his backup had arrived, which meant he could take the squints back to the Jeffersonian, and they could begin a search for any southward warehouses of an abandoned nature.

As one of Booth's associates from the FBI stepped inside the room, Booth promptly made an exit, gesturing for the squints to follow him. As he passed the incoming crime scene investigators, he quickly acquired an evidence bag and slipped the note back inside. Leading the squints back around to the front of the house, Booth held out the piece of paper to Hodgins. He listened half-heartedly to the squints excited talk, each of them posing ideas and theories, and every one of them describing what exactly they could do when they returned to the Jeffersonian.

While he knew that this was important, Booth couldn't take his mind from what his role would be since the recovery of the note. Doubtlessly, the squints would determine where exactly the note referred to. Hodgins could pull particulates from just about anything, which could provide endless details about the locations the paper had been. Angela, with her sound computing skills, could map out all highways from the DC area leading south and find any warehouses that could possibly be considered abandoned, and continue to combine the information to narrow down the search parameters considerably. Sweets could probably do something with the writing; he was sure he'd read of psychologists making profiles from handwriting samples before, in one of those many times he was sitting in Sweet's waiting room, with nothing but the psychology magazines to read.

But, once they had confirmed all that they already knew, and determined where exactly it was that Brennan was being held, it would be his job to lead the rescue team in to find her. In all his FBI training, he had never faced such a daunting task. From what they gathered, it was a kidnapping for revenge to be extracted. This meant that he had no idea what exactly he was up against, and in what state he was going to find Bones. She could be anything from unharmed to dead, but more likely something in between. As much as he wished it wasn't true, he had basically resigned to the fact that she was going to have gone through something horrible, and whatever it was he knew he was going to blame himself for it for the rest of his life. But, knowing was better than being in the dark about the fate of his partner, so he hastily lead his team back to his truck, ready to drive them back to the Jeffersonian and allow them to find his Bones.

* * *

**Yay! we're finally getting somewhere!**

**i hope that made sense, i know what i mean, but whether or not you do is a completely different story :D**

**hopefully the start was okay...i wrote the whole chapter with sweets in it, and suddenly realised that he wasnt in the car at the end of the last Booth chapter, so i hastily made up some way for him to join the plot...oh well, im sure some people cough*mrsrotchester*cough would prefer him to be in the story**

**so yeah...im hoping to crack 100 reviews with this chapter...but that means a whopping 25 reviews from you lot**

**just to make sure i do get there, im going to GUILT TRIP everyone who has me on their favourites/alert list and who doesnt review! i write these lovely little plots for you people, all i ask in return is a measly little review... *sob sob***

**just kidding, but seriously, review**

**makes me write faster...im sure ive told you that before, but just as a reminder :D**

**k, i'll leave you to your fanficcing now, have a nice day :P**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi All! *waves enthusiastically***

**im kinda hyper, so dont mind me *bounces around with way more energy than is legal for this time of night***

**_well, first off, id like to add something about last chapter for anyone who thought the joking/fun was a touch OOC...my justification is that none of them are really sure whats happening, so they dont know the extent of the things brennan has gone through. so they are still a bit...happy...i guess, coz they arent certain. but booth was a little more forlorn coz he has some previous experience in the area, and fears for the worst :S i hope that clears some stuff up :P_**

**k, well heres a new chapter...its kinda short compared to the other chapters ive been uploading as of late, but its a bit of a filler until the RESCUE CHAPTER! (which is the next one, btw)**

**and i didnt want to bore you by repeating myself with brennan going on about being all 'woe is me' for too long...especially since all her chapters have had a bit of that in there too**

**so yeah...go ahead, read at your leisure!**

With the loud slap of skin against cement, Brennan was thrown to the ground of her cell. Feeling a graze on the heel of her hand join the already large number of injuries to her body, Brennan winced her eyes closed, willing herself to allow no more tears to fall. Having learnt from past experiences, she didn't try to sit up; it wasn't wise to move too early, especially if any wounds were still bleeding. Lying there on the cement, she wondered how much blood she must have lost, and how much longer her body could continue to take this.

She had been certain, after the first time, that her body would not be able to take any more of this torture. But, much to her dismay, each time Gregory had taken her from her cell, she had always managed to get through the attack on her body, and always had remained conscious. She seriously doubted that her back would ever heal, and even if it did, the skin would be mottled and scarred, leaving her with a permanent reminder of her ordeal.

She realized with a jolt that she was running on the assumption that she was going to be rescued, and her stomach plummeted as the realization of just how unlikely that was hit home. Booth would surely be working to find her, as would her team at the Jeffersonian, but despite their collective genius, if she was left here much longer she would statistically be dead. Sooner or later, Cam or Director Cullen would be asked to stop expending resources on such a fruitless search, and her team and Booth would be ordered to move on. They would do so reluctantly, but eventually they would move on, first in the lab and then in their minds. But probably by that point she'd be dead in any case. Now that she had made the connection about who Gregory was, he would probably get to the point a lot faster, and once he had done all that he wished to do he would dispose of her. Brennan gasped as a sharp image came to her mind, of her lifeless body slowly sinking into the channel beside the warehouse, and she quickly shoved the image from her mind.

Remembering Gregory was about as much a shock to her system as the torture was. She had never, ever expected to hear from him again, let alone see him face to face. Last she had heard, he was in jail on the drug charges she helped him be accused of, and wasn't going to be released for years. Although they were close, the closest thing she had experienced to a boyfriend at the time, she had felt horribly betrayed when she learnt of his illegal activities. The betrayal had hit a nerve with her; it had been mere years after her parents had abandoned her, so she had done what was right and told the police.

It was horrifying, to learn after all these years that he still held her responsible for what happened. She shuddered at the thought of him, sitting in some dull cell, mulling over what happened and probably planning his revenge all that time. She had no idea how he had managed to pull it all off; being in a jail would mean he couldn't possibly have planned the whole thing alone, unless he had some previous experience in the Jeffersonian. But she knew for a fact that he hadn't, or else she would have heard about it. With a sigh she pushed those thoughts from her mind; she was tired and in agonizing pain, and analysing anything too deeply made her head throb.

She longed to shift from her position on the floor, but willed herself not to move. Her now ruined shirt hung in tatters across her body, the ripped back dangling dangerously in her wounds, and the front and was scrunched uncomfortably against her ribcage. A part of her body, Brennan had noticed, that had become more prominent over the last few days. Her body had slimmed noticeably over her time with Gregory, but because of her already thin figure she was beginning to become unhealthily underweight. The single slices of stale white bread that Gregory had been providing her with were barely enough to keep her body alive, and she had hardly dared to touch the water he gave her in case he had spiked it with something. Because of her caution she was severely dehydrated, and the lack of any type of sustenance was taking its toll.

Deciding that having her tattered shirt hanging from her body was more trouble than it was worth, Brennan gently tested her body to see if she could move enough to remove it. Wincing as the tattered material pulled through the welts on her back, she gently tugged at the material until it came loose. She shrugged it off her shoulders and pulled it from beneath her, leaving an unrecognizable clump of blood-soaked cotton in a pile beside her.

Slightly happier now, knowing that her welts were not going to get infected by anything that she was responsible for, Brennan pulled the shirt under her head and lay down on it like a pillow, trying to ignore the cool, sticky substance now smudging over her cheek. Her upper body now rested directly against the coarse cement, the only coverage over her chest the dark purple bra that had somehow managed to stay in place over the last three days. For a short moment she contemplated removing her jeans, which were saturated with her blood, but quickly decided against it. She didn't want to catch hypothermia on top of everything else her body was going through.

The light coming from beneath the door was dimming; night would be here soon, along with the bitter cold that accompanied it. Although she had withstood more on any number of her exotic digs, she had found even the slightest thing seemed to set her off these last few days. Like that snake. Normally she had a bit more control over her phobia, but even the thought of the hideous creature sitting in the basket next door was sickening to her, and just to keep a full-on panic attack at bay, she slid herself across the rough cement to the far corner, keeping herself as far from the snake as she could. And keeping herself, she realised, as far away from Gregory as she could get.

She had even surprised herself at how fast that particular fear had manifested. Even thinking of his name made goosebumps rise on her arms, and caused the soft hairs at the back of her neck to stand on end. She was certain that if she ever met a man named Gregory in the future she would not be able to look them in the eye, and suddenly Sully's offer to take her to the Caribbean seemed horrifyingly absurd. The idea of Sully even being there made her worry for his safety, despite the fact that she had well and truly moved on from their relationship.

Unexpectedly, the sound of a car broke the silence, driving slowly along the road that traced the outer wall of the warehouse. Brennan heard the vehicle stop, and the sound of a door opening. A voice was talking, almost indistinguishable through the thick walls, but it sounded like someone on a phone. Another moment's worth of attentive listening told Brennan that the voice was that of a woman, which quickly dispelled her fear that Gregory was making an unexpected visit. As soon as she realised it was not her captor, Brennan began trying to stand up. It was agonisingly painful, and she collapsed to the ground on her first attempt. A gasp that almost qualified for a scream escaped her lips. But she didn't even try to stop it. In fact, she did the opposite, beginning to yell and scream as loud as she could as she tried again, this time with more success, to rise to her feet.

'Help me! Someone, please, help!'

She threw her body against the metal door, feeling satisfaction when it made a resonating and loud thrumming sound when hit. She threw her body against the door a few more times, not bothering to contain the shrieks that escaped her lips from the pain. After a few moments, though, she stopped. She held still, frozen like a rabbit who thought it had heard a predator lurking nearby. The voice had stopped talking, though the gentle hum of the car's engine was still there.

'Please, please…' Brennan whispered, biting her lip and desperately hoping that she had somehow been heard. After a moment, the conversation started up again, slowly at first, but then back to its normal pace. She heard muffled footfalls walk by, and the car engine rev before receding into the distance. Brennan's eyes crinkled closed in despair, and a strangled sob escaped her lips. Her plan- her only way of getting herself out of here- had failed. Miserably. Gregory wouldn't have chosen somewhere busy to keep her, and even having one other person stumble across where she was being held was a miracle. The chance that someone else would come past here was so unlikely that she didn't even consider it an option, and the fact that she had apparently ruined her only chance to escape filled her with anguish.

The adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins was ebbing fast, and with it the full force of the pain from her injuries was returning. She could now tell that she had ripped open some recently healed lashes on her back, and had torn the flesh at the ends of any that had still been open wounds. More and more blood trickled down her back, streams of the hot, sticky liquid tracing paths down her spine and adding themselves to the large mass of the liquid already staining her jeans. She could feel the physical side-effects now; she was becoming light-headed, her vision blurring and darkening at the edges. She unsteadily lowered herself back to the cold cement floor, on the verge of collapse, and completely desolate about her situation. She had blown it. She was never going to be rescued. Her body had been pushed to breaking point, and probably past it, but she was still here, somehow still in one immensely painful piece.

A shiver racked her body, the cold cement sucking the heat from her body without remorse. She longed to tuck herself into a ball, but the recently reopened wounds on her back made that impossible. Instead she lay still, unwillingly allowing her mind to run free.

Every negative thought, every concern, and every fear that had developed over the last few days floated to the top of her mind, but she was too exhausted to hold them back any longer. Horrifying images of her previous experiences flashed through her mind sporadically, barraging her mentally until she felt broken. That rusted hook, hanging in the next room; the array of weapons lying on the bench, all of which she was well aware were intended for her; the slick black scales of that reptile living in that wicker basket, and the utterly disturbing way that its tongue flickered in and out of view; and finally the face of her captor, an image that seemed to be burned to the back of her eyelids.

How had Booth managed to get through his own torture, while being held as a prisoner of war? She was certain his experience must have been worse than hers; his captors -after all- were professionals in their field. They knew exactly what to do to cause him pain, both mental and physical, in ways that would scar him for life. But despite her brain knowing that he had been worse off than her, her heart was stubbornly certain that she was the one who deserved more pity. She felt almost on the verge of death, and was rapidly becoming more and more inclined to give up and accept her fate, and to stop fighting. She hadn't noticed until then that she had still been fighting, after all this time, even though she now realised it was a futile effort. She had maintained her dignity, and had held herself together as much as she could, at least while in Gregory's presence. She hadn't allowed him to fully take over, continuing to resist his physical and mental attack against her. But now she was considering giving up. Allowing him to break her, do whatever he wanted, just so it would be over sooner.

But a small corner of her mind resented everything she was thinking. The stubborn section cried for attention, begging her not to give in with as much vigour as animal possessed. The conflicting thoughts in her mind were making her head throb, making it almost impossible for her to think straight. She was exhausted, and the overwhelming thoughts brutally bouncing around her head were so confusingly painful that she let out a quiet moan. She clutched her head in her hands, and a sob of exhausted confusion escaped her lips. She rocked herself gently, trying to compartmentalise, to separate her feelings from what needed to be done.

Reassuring logic eventually took over her mind, and she slowly worked her way through her options in minute details. She whittled away at her choices, removing ideas that were impractical, and combining others into acceptable compromises. In the end, she came to a firm decision: if no help came in the next 24 hours, she was going to give up, and stop promising herself things that were never going to happen.

She groped around in the darkness until she found her tattered shirt, and pulled the ruined material underneath her head once more. She held the end of one dilapidated sleeve in her hands, clutching the relatively unblemished section of the material in her hands like her life depended on it. With a sigh she settled down to sleep, apprehensive about the day to come, but still completely certain that her decision was final, no matter what Gregory put her through before the next day was over.

**It would seem brennan is giving up...but have no fear! booth will arrive soon!**

**now, id love love LOVE to thank every single person who reviewed! i got like 27 reviews last chapter! twenty-freaking-seven! i love you people!  
(but did anyone notice, in my last a/n that i asked for 25 reviews to get 100 total, when i only needed 15??? i only noticed myself like 2 days later, but figured it couldnt hurt to ask for more...)lol, my bad :P**

**now, time for some...**

**SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION! (cue fancy orchestral music)**

**i have written an angsty little oneshot called 'the worst way to lose her'...and since i value the opinions of all you people that read my stuff (especially this story), id love it if you could have a look at that one too! i think youd like it...i admit, it is a bit (well, a lot) sadder than this, but still, i think youd like it :P**

**so give that a look if you have a minute...**

**oh, btw, please review...especially all you people who alert/favourite this without telling me anything...a simple 'good' would suffice (although, an essay-length review that uses up the letter limit for reviews would be nice, too XD)**

**k, well, thanks for reading, and the rescue is coming! keep your eyes peeled!**


	10. Chapter 10

**bonjour, tout le monde!**

**for those who dont speak french, hi :P**

**well, i know this is what you have all been waiting for...  
THE RESCUE CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
im desperately hoping this lives up to everyones expectations, and that you all enjoy it :P**

**please please please review, people, this is like 5000 words so i think i need to know if it was worth all the effort!  
happy reading!**

Booth paced like a caged animal, up and down a short route just in front of the stairs to the platform. Frustration coursed through his veins, as well as agitation and restlessness. The team had been back at the Jeffersonian for at least an hour, and there were still no conclusive results about where Brennan was being kept. Despite all the evidence that he had found. Despite the collective genius of the group of scientists that worked for Brennan. It was as if the world didn't want him to find her, as if for some reason God was messing with him over the one thing, he now realised, that really mattered in his life. Well, he wasn't going to let it happen; he was going to make fate follow his own rules, not the other way around.

The clicking of heels echoed down the hall, and Booth spun around in anticipation. Angela was walking swiftly up from her office, looking around as though searching for someone.

'Angela?'

'Booth! I've been looking for you; I've got something.' Booth all but ran down to the forensic artist, and joined her walking swiftly towards her office.

'I'm afraid it's not much, Booth, but it's something.' Angela moved around to her computer as they entered her office, Booth hovering with nervous anticipation at her shoulder. Her fingers struck the keyboard, typing intricate codes until an image popped up, splayed across the screen.

A map of the eastern coast of America lit up the screen, but after another short burst of keystrokes on Angela's behalf the map selected the state of Virginia, and blew the image up until it took up most of the screen. Washington DC was marked with a large dark dot, the major highways accentuated in dark blue, and the ocean was a large sky blue mass lining the right-hand side of the screen.

'Given that the note only gave limited information, I had to start off by highlighting any area with warehouses, accessible in any way by travelling southward on a highway from DC.' A keystroke lit up almost half the screen with bright red patches, indicating the position of the warehouses. Booth groaned and raised a hand to his brow at the sight; it was logistically impossible for them to cover such a large area.

'Have you been able to narrow it down a little?'

'Well, I haven't had much to work with, seeing as the notes recovered from Freedman's house are still being processed. The information I have received, though, has enabled me to eliminate some options…' she hit a few keys, and a small portion of the red area faded away.

'I've gone through the warehouses to see which ones are no longer in use, but I didn't want to completely erase the other places, just in case they have been temporarily put out of work and could still be possible candidates.' And after one last set of keystrokes, approximately half of the remaining red area turned yellow, indicating the areas that would probably not be classified as abandoned. Although the number of possible locations had considerably lessened, it was still a lot of warehouses to search.

With a sigh Booth put on an expression that he hoped looked more optermistic than he felt.

'Thanks, Ange, this is really going to help…'

'You don't have to put on the act, Booth. I know this is basically useless unless we can narrow the parameters down any further…'

'And I have just the way to do that!' Booth and Angela turned to see Hodgins leaning calmly against the doorframe, holding an evidence bag containing the smallest evidence vial Booth had even seen. Hodginsquickly made his way over to Angela's desk and dropped the evidence bag on the keyboard, a confidently smug smile on his face.

'These were scraped from the bottom of a pair of boots, recovered along with a set of clothing that matched the kidnapper's outfit from our surveillance video, from the Freedman house.'

'What exactly are they?' Booth asked, holding the tiny bottle up near his eyes, but still not recognising the substance contained inside it.

'It's a combination of dirt, gravel and –what I was most excited about- bird scats.' Booth hastily replaced the vial on the desk.

'I analysed the samples and was able to identify a collection of bird species native to Virginia Beach.'

'So this warehouse is by the sea?' As Hodgins nodded, Angela bent over her computer and rapidly typed in new instructions, and moments later the map refreshed, showing the majority of the previously red areas now highlighted yellow, and the only red sections were a small cluster by the coast. Anticipating her next request, Angela magnified the image until that region filled the screen.

'Now you can eliminate anything from here to here…this group of species aren't seen in those areas…' Hodgins indicated areas on the screen, and Angela obediently changed their colouring to yellow. When the picture was once again magnified, the only places left were two separate red squares on the screen, both within walking distance of the sea.

'So that leaves us with two separate yards, both abandoned. Are they both within the range of those birds that you identified?'

'Afraid so, Booth.'

'So how do we pick?' Booth's question was met with silence, and he felt his eagerness begin to falter. They were close; so close he could almost taste it, but at this last hurdle they had hit a snag.

'Come on, there has to be some way…' Booth swung away from the computer, and recommenced his previous pacing. But, much to his frustration, he couldn't concentrate. Brennan's face was all he could see in his mind, and all he could think about was what that bastard might be doing to her. His heart ached at the thought of the last time she was kidnapped, seeing her chained up, surrounded by dogs and about to be killed by someone who was once his trusted associate.

His fear had been growing and growing over the last few days; the others, who had never had any real experience in the area of vengeful kidnapping, were occasionally letting their concern slide away, engaging in jokes and letting their minds move on. But he could never moveon. He had experienced too much in that area, both as a soldier and as an FBI agent, to ever relax whilesomeone was out there, going through something that horrible.

Suddenly his mind flashed back to his time as a prisoner of war; a short and sharp image, but as painful as being stabbed with a knife.

_The rusted door creaked open, the screech of the metal abrasive against my ears. My stomach plunged as I saw two men enter the room, one of which I remembered from my capture the day before. The other was casually carrying a thin metal rod in his hands, twirling it between his fingers with almost practised precision. The chains around my wrists and ankles held me tightly to the metal slab that I had been laid on,__ and for some unknown reason I felt fear well in my chest, although I could see no weapon or torture device that I was aware of…_

Booth snapped his eyes open, willing the painful memories to stop, but as soon as that single memory had escaped, others had followed, and before he had a chance to shut his mind to those experiences, another thought flashed through his mind…

'_You will tell us your military's plans!' The man screamed in my face, a thick accent obscuring his words. I remained silent, seeing no good reason to __divulge the information, especially since they weren't actually threatening me with anything. The man yelled out in frustration, flinging his arms in the air and turning away. He slapped a hand against the concrete wall as he passed it, but a moment later he paused. He turned back to look at me, a slightly incredulous look on his face. A second later a deep chuckle escaped his lips, and he turned to his companion, who was still standing by the door, twirling that same metal rod. A stream of foreign words tumbled from his mouth, but despite the language barrier I could tell their intonation was obviously amused._

_The other man joined his superior in his laughter, his grip on the pole in his hand tightening as he did so. This unnerved me, and I suddenly felt a lot more apprehensive about that man's role in my interrogation._

'_You don't know what that is? No?' As much as I hated the fact, my silence spoke for me. The man let out a solitary chuckle, before becoming brutally serious and turning his head to the man by the door._

'_Teach him.' _

Booth took in a sharp breath, almost loud enough to be considered a gasp. His feet instinctively curled in his shoes, shying away at the mere thought of what had happened next.

'Are you okay, Booth?' He took a quiet yet deep breath, before turning back to his two companions.

'Yeah, I'm fine…' Before anything else could be said, Booth's cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered the call, and was slightly surprised but very glad to hear the voice of an FBI associate, Agent Barrett, who he had asked to help him as much as possible for the case.

'Agent Booth? I have some information that you may find interesting.'

'Go ahead.'

'Late last night, at approximately 10.30pm, the Virginia Police Department received a call from a young woman, reporting suspicious noise coming from one of the warehouses, just near Virginia Beach.' Booth's attention piqued, and he pressed the phone closer to his ear.

'What did she say?'

'She told the officer who answered the phone that she thought she heard screaming or yelling coming from one of the warehouses she had walked past on her way to secure the door on her own building in the area.'

'There are two locations in that area with warehouses we were intending to search, can you tell me which one she was referring to?'

'Give me a sec…' Booth heard the muffled sound of a keyboard through the phone, and the click of a mouse, before Barrett spoke again.

'Of those two, it is the most southerly.'

'Thank you so much, Barrett. I owe you.'

'No worries, Booth. I hope you find your girl.' With that he hung up, and Booth began to dial at the same time as running out of the office.

'Booth! What was that?'

'We've found her. She's in the more southerly of the two warehouse yards.'

'Wait! We need to find Cam, and Zach!'

'No time. We have to move now, he may have caught on to us…' Hodgins and Angela exchanged a look, concerned about leaving their friends, but silently agreed to follow after Booth. They jogged to catch up to him, catching the back-end of the phone call that he had just made.

'…units to join me at the southern warehouses off Virginia Beach, as soon as possible….I don't care what other missions your people have! This is a matter of life and death, so get me those units now!' Booth viciously hung up on the man at the other end of the line, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

Booth sprinted as fast as he could down the stairs to the parking lot, and yanked his door open. Barely waiting long enough for Angela and Hodgins to join him in the car, Booth slammed his foot down onto the accelerator and sped away from the Jeffersonian, flicking the small switch in his car to turn on his siren and lights. Beside him, he could hear Angela on the phone, informing Cam about what was happening, and where they were going. He gathered from the one side of the conversation that he could hear that the remaining squints would follow them as soon as possible, and meet them at the warehouses.

Taking a small measure of happiness from the fact that civilians were swerving out of his way when they heard his siren wailing, Booth sped way past the speed limit along the clearing road before him. They were soon on the highway, racing southward towards where they hoped Brennan was being held. Booth pushed away the thought that they might be wrong.

It was impossible. They had to be right. He needed them to be right. After all this build up, all this excitement, all this anticipation that they had finally found her, if they were wrong…it would be too much to handle. Pouring all his concentration into his driving so that he wasn't distracted by other, less savoury thoughts, Booth felt his pulse quicken when he saw the sign telling him that the next turn-off was his.

Before he really registered what was happening, he steered the car swiftly along the route his GPSindicated. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, large warehouses loomed against the horizon, their dark walls silhouetted against the blue sky by a bright, midday sun. By the entryway to the warehouse yard Booth parked his car, and promptly exited the vehicle. As he opened his door the strong aroma of salt water hit him in the face as a strong breeze flew past, and turning to his left he saw a thin man-made river running a short distance to the ocean. Moments after he set foot on the bitumen beneath the car he heard the sound of other vehicles approaching, and as he turned towards the sound four SUVsrounded the corner and halted in a line next to Booth's car. A team of four men exited each vehicle, and they all followed a suited man over to Booth's car.

'This had better be important, Booth…' The suited man said in a slightly annoyed tone, giving off the distinct air that he would much rather be somewhere else. Booth ignored the comment and turned to the agents following the man, mentally counting their numbers and figuring out groups. In a loud and unwavering voice, he continued to instruct the men to break into groups of four, each group taking one of the scientists, the suited man or Booth himself, and would proceed to sweep the warehouses for any signs of Dr Brennan. As soon as he gave the command, each group broke away, Hodgins and Angela's respectivegroups heading towards the warehouses at the back of the lot, while Booth and the suited man began checking the warehouses closest to the gates.

Booth's heart began to sink, as he stepped out of the third vacant warehouse his team had searched. None of the other teams had reported finding any signs of anyone, which meant one of two things: they were either closing in on Brennan's location, or they had the wrong place and were wasting their time. Booth walked along the gravely road to the next warehouse, but as he walked a glint of silver caught his eye. He curiously walked towards the object, and his pulse quickened when he saw what it was. He ran over and dropped to his knees, scooping the metallic item off the ground. It was a silver charm bracelet, one that he had recognised within moments as belonging to Bones. He had given it to her himself, and his stomach lurched as he realised she probably left it there as an indicator of her location, in case someone came looking. Dropping the bracelet in his pocket he pulled his gun from its holster, and conveyed to the other men that this was the one.

They clustered in a tight and well-rehearsed formation by the door, each agent holding his weapon in steady hands. They listened intently, seeing if they could hear anything inside. The silence was eerie, even the seabirds seemed to have stopped their calling. But then they heard the scream. It was slightly muffled by the door, and the sound was distorted by echoing and reverberating off the warehouse's walls, but it was unmistakable. Anger boiled in Booth and almost without thought his hand flew to the door, ready to yank it open and attack whoever it was who was harming his Bones. But another, younger hand shot out and stilled Booths, gently but firmly. Booth looked up to see the face of a young man, probably around the same age as Sweets, but who was somehow showing more control and professionalism than he was as the senior field agent.

The man's face showed sympathy and understanding, but his hand was a firm reminder that they were still on a rescue mission, and that they had to maintain some sense of professionalism. Unwilling as he was, he forced all thought of revenge from his mind, and tried to convince his mind that the shriek still resonating in his ears did not belong to his partner. He gestured to one of the other men to open the door, slowly, and they all stood on edge as he began to slide the metal aside. The old, rusted door ran quietly for the first few moments, but after about half a meter it began to wail in protest. The agent immediately stopped trying to pull it any further, and the entire group froze, pleading that they had remained unnoticed. It seemed that luck was on their side, though, for no one appeared to have realised what was happening. But now the door was open, all the sounds coming from within the warehouse were becoming more distinguishable.

A voice, deep and tainted with a foreign accent, was bouncing off the walls, and there was another sound too, one that Booth didn't immediately recognise. His spine tingled uncomfortably, though, when his mind figured out what the noise was. The whimpering was quiet, almost indiscernible underneath the baritone of the Jamaican man, but it was certainly there. One of the agents surreptitiously glanced through the door, and when he saw no person nearby, he slipped inside, taking cover behind a pile of crates near the door. The group followed in single file, until they were all huddled behind that pile of crates.

The continued to sneak forward, moving from hiding place to hiding place, taking cover behind any large enough stacks of the wooden crates. They were able to discern that the voices were coming from behind a large barricade of the crates, tall enough that they created a sort of wall, and completely obscured their view of what was happening behind there. As they walked, the Jamaican voice continued to drone on, talking in a manner not dissimilar to a teacher, but about an unknown topic to the team of rescuers.

'…and it was because of you, dear Tempe, that this all came to be! If you had not been such a deceitful, rude and arrogant child, I wouldn't have been jailed, and my associate would never have been permanently scarred by his actions towards you!'

Booth almost twitched at the man's use of Brennan's name, so blithe, but so filled with fury. The man's ranting was following their profile of the capturer exactly, and by the time they reached the last pile of crates before they reached the wall, Booth was certain the man ranting behind it was Gregory Clark. The group stayed behind the crate barrier, the only thing between keeping them a secret from the people on the other side. They edged along it as quietly as they could, until they reached the very end. They hovered there, waiting, not sure what precisely was going on beside them, without the advantage of sight. They waited in stillness and in silence, listening acutely to the scene next to them, trying to find the best time to launch a surprise attack.

'So, Tempe, have you finally learned your lesson? We have been through this day after day, going over and over the same thing. Up until now, you have shown me nothing but insolence, but maybe today you are ready to admit your wrongdoing? Only once you admit to the sin can you start atoning for it, and that is the reason I am here, after all…'

Gregory left his question hovering, waiting to hear a response. Booth, on the other side of the wall, waited almost as eagerly, but hoping for the complete opposite outcome to Gregory. He longed to hear her be defiant, to hear that she was still retaining that same spirit she always had. But his hope faltered at the length of time it took her to respond. Seconds ticked past, and silence still reigned. But, just before Booth was about to lose all hope he heard her voice, quavering with fear or exhaustion or some mixture of both, but still loud enough to be heard.

'No.'

Booth jumped when he heard the outraged roar from the man with Brennan, and signalled for the other agents to be ready; he knew the time to attack was near, especially if he wanted to prevent the situation from deteriorating strategically. Booth stood right at the very edge of the crate wall, waiting until he was given some signal that it would be the right time. But he felt his heart stop at the unexpected shriek from the woman mere meters away from him. Giving up on the plan for a completely surprise attack, Booth gave the signal and the team rounded the corner. But Booth faltered for a moment at the horrific sight before him.

Brennan hung before him, limp as a rag doll, encompassed in chains at the wrists and ankles. She had lost her shirt at some point, leaving her creamy skin exposed except for the dark bra that was still in place. Her skin seemed to cling to her body, her ribs and shoulders protruding unhealthily from her body. But his eyes took in those details almost instantaneously. What made him stumble was her face.

Her usually pristine skin was smeared with blood, and the corner of a large bruise could be seen at the edge of her hairline. Her hair hung in tattered and limp strands around her face, dark with oil and filth gathered over the days she was kept prisoner. Her lips were dry and cracked, deep lines running along the normally smooth contour of her mouth. But her eyes were what were worst. They were red, blotched and puffy, and the lids drooped ever so slightly. They were welled with tears, and now that he knew to look, there were trails of previously shed tears on her cheeks, cutting thin lines through the grime on her face. For a split second those eyes looked at him with complete blankness, showing no recognition or any other emotion at the sight of him. But they were then filled with joy, disbelieve and overwhelming relief when they realised what they were seeing.

Booth suddenly snapped back into form, realising that Brennan was still in danger as long as her assailant was still at large. He saw the man running, from somewhere behind Brennan over to a table beside the wall, and before anyone knew what was happening he had snatched a gun from the table. He released the safety and pointed the weapon directly at Brennan's face, his arm steady and his face set.

'You'll let me go, or else Tempe will be lost to you forever.' A sneer pulled at the man's mouth, and his eyes lit with triumph as he saw how perfect his plan was. The FBI agents had all frozen, their guns trailed on the man, but no one daring to pull their trigger. Nobody moved, each gun aimed perfectly at their respective targets, and every mind in the room whirring, trying to think of the best way out of the situation. Booth longed to look back at Brennan, but knew that the moment he did he would probably lose his concentration and make some crucial mistake. But, a voice nagged in his mind, what if he does shoot her? You will never see her alive again, never look in those eyes…

His inner voice didn't have to try too hard to convince him to look back over at his partner. She was looking at him intently, and he could tell she had been trying to catch his eye. She mouthed a word at him; _Talk!_ Booth swallowed, not sure if he could trust himself to speak, but he obediently turned to Gregory and cleared his throat.

'Why'd you do this, Gregory?' The man's eyes darted quickly from his target to Booth, taking in detail about who it was that had dared to speak.

'None of your business!'

'There has to be a reason, all this trouble wouldn't just be on a whim.'

'Damn right its not.'

'Then why? What did Brennan ever do to you?'

'What did she do to me? She got my entire family jailed, that's what she did!'

'She had every right to. You were trading drugs, it's her right and duty to report that to the police…' Outrage and hurt flashed across Gregory's features, and he turned his focus to Booth.

'We weren't hurting anyone! All we did was…' Gregory was cut off when, completely unexpectedly, Brennan flung her leg out with a painful cry, kicking him in the side. Gregory clutched the spot with a yell, and the gun in his hand went off. Brennan screamed, and her body bent forward as far as possible with her wrists still chained above her. At the sound of the gunshot Booth immediately let out a shot, his precise aim hitting Gregory square in the chest. But Booth didn't even check if his shot had been fatal. He ran to Brennan's side, his heart wrenching at the sight of the blood splattered on the floor at her side. Her skin was becoming deathly pale, and she was choking back cries of pain with very limited success.

'Somebody call an ambulance!' Booth's voice broke at the end of the order, and he placed a hand on Brennan's cheek. He felt her press against it; he felt the cool dampness of her tears against his skin and the sticky heat of the blood that had somehow stained her cheek. Inside Booth was screaming, yelling, and protesting so loudly that he was sure he must be saying something out loud. It was cruel, impossibly cruel, for him to come so close to rescuing her, just to have her life ripped from him at this final hurdle. This was supposed to be the easy bit, flying in to save the day. The hard part had been finding her, just because of the sheer impossibility of the crime, but once they had found the place it was supposed to be simple. He was going to run in, guns ablaze at whoever it was that had the nerve to take his Bones away from him, before scooping Brennan up in his arms and taking her away, taking her somewhere safe. And then maybe, just maybe, telling her how much she meant to him. At the very least as a friend, but maybe as something more.

But he anguished at the scene before him; everything had gone horribly, terribly wrong. The man that took her was dead, as Booth had somehow known he was going to end up, but Brennan was not safe in his arms. She was dying, still hanging in the chains that she had been kidnapped in, the chains she had probably been tortured in, and now the chains she was going to die in. He felt his hands begin to tremble, but with enormous self-will, he made them stop; it wasn't fair to Bones if he let her know how scared he was that she wasn't going to pull through his. He pressed a fierce kiss to her hair, and felt her press her face into his shoulder. He moaned as the impending death filled him with inconsolable grief, and felt a tear trickled down his cheek. He took a shuddering breath but despite the urge to get away from the scene, he forced himself to stay where he was. He was going to stay with Brennan, until the end, no matter how painful it was for him. He owed her that, at least. He owed her anything she wanted. Because he had failed. She was dying in his arms, and it was all his fault.

**duh, duh, duh! so close but yet so far...i dunno if that saying is really all that appropriate, but i like it so there :P**

**but, just something to move all you people out of your cliffhanger-induced depressions, i thought i would show you this (all non-B/B shippers, look away):**

**_No dream sequence here. NO undercover assignment. Not even alcohol. After months of teasing, creator Hart Hanson confirms Bones (Emily Deschanel) and Booth (David Boreanaz) will hook up in this year's season finale. "They're actually in bed having sex," Hanson tells me. "And they won't be able to just walk away from what happened. It will have serious ramifications."_**

**EPIC SQUEE!!!!!!!!!**

**i hope that made all your respective days**

**now, in light of my massive update AND that little gem of information, would i be asking too much for a review?  
I THINK NOT!**

**thankyou all for sticking with me for this story, i can't believe ive done 10 whole chapters! (i know this is kinda wussy, compared to those epic 50-odd chaptered stories out there, but still, this makes me feel special!)**

**bon soir! (or alternatively, good morning/day/afternoon if it is not currently night wherever you are)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello all**

**the much awaited update has arrived! well, it was at least much awaited by georgia and taylor, i dont know about the rest of you guys...lol  
sorry that this has taken so long to update...school is kinda over the top at the moment, its probably a miracle that this is actually finished at all... o_O**

**thanks a billion gagillion times to everyone who reviews, you make my day!**

**as always, bones is not mine, or else the season 4 finale and onwards would have happened already! so pumped for all that!!!**

Brennan pressed her forehead against Booth's shoulder, wincing her eyes closed against the pain. Her already drained body was on the verge of collapse, and this additional injury was pushing her very close to her limits. Limits, she now realised, extended far further than what she had ever believed possible. It was a mixed blessing; she was alive, somehow, and Booth had been able to rescue her, but she had also had to go through things that most people would never even imagine in the process.

The site of the bullet's entry was burning, a more agonising pain than anything else she had experienced during her entire time with Gregory. She longed to curl up in a ball, to cradle her injured body, but she was stilled chained upright, and had to make do with contracting her stomach so she was bent forward as far as she could go. The gashes along her back were screaming in protest, but the gunshot wound demanded this position and it was by far the more powerful of the two injuries.

She longed to cry out, but her time with Gregory had somehow steeled her against the world, and she was determined not to let anyone know what she was going through. Her lips quivered with the effort of keeping shut, but she managed to muffle her cries so that Booth was the only person close enough to hear them. But, despite her determination not to be seen as weak, she was okay with Booth seeing that side of her. It was contradictory, irrational, illogical, but her exhausted mind for once relented to her heart, and let emotion rule.

Brennan's mind was whirring with fear and despair; all that she could think was that, after all that she went through, and all that she had willed herself to survivethrough, she was going to die from this one wayward shot that was caused by her own actions. But she refused to regret what she did. In her mind, all she could see was Gregory turning his gun on Booth, and she knew she would never forgive herself if she hadn't done something about it. But now it seemed to her that blood was oozing from her every pore, and that within moments she was going to run out of the precious substance, and pass from this world forever.

There was a minute of silence; it was as if the other FBI agents weren't even there, and Booth seemed as solid and frozen as a statue. As the seconds ticked by, somehow, rather than her eminent death beginning to occur, the pain seemed to ebb. Only the tiniest bit, but it was still a slight reduction. Without moving from leaning heavily against her stone-like partner, Brennan began to assess her wounds. Her back was still a consistent agony, but that was nothing new. Her head still throbbed from where Gregory had attacked her that first night, and that was accompanied by a strong headache brought on by the many tears that she had shed. But what she focused on most was the gunshot wound. In the sheer agony of the first shot, Brennan hadn't taken notice of where exactly the bullet had entered her body. But now, after thinking about it, she deduced that it might not be as serious as she had first thought. She shifted her head and cracked open an eye, and saw that her mental prediction was right: the bullet had pierced her calf, and by the looks of things hit her tibia on its way out. An agonisingly painful injury, but certainly not fatal.

Brennan couldn't believe her luck; if Gregory's arm had moved at a slightly different angle, the bullet would have struck her femoral artery and she would have bled out in minutes. But, by some miracle, the bullet's trajectory had been such that it avoided anything vital, and she had managed to pull through this just as well as everything else she had experienced.

She felt herself relax, and muscles she hadn't even realised were tense released their pressure. Her relief was so great that she let out a small chuckle, and for the first time in almost a week she cracked a smile. A slight adrenaline rush flowed through her veins, numbing the pain slightly, and making her more alert. She felt Booth shift his weight beneath her, and with a small jolt she realised that he probably thought the shot had hit something a lot more fatal than what it had in reality. She opened her mouth, and was slightly surprised when all that came out was a deep rasp. She coughed slightly, which brought Booth's attention to her. He wrapped a hand along each side of her face.

'Bones, what's the matter? What do you need?' His eyes were full of concern, anguish and guilt, and the sight pulled at Brennan's heartstrings. She cleared her throat and in a quiet voice tried to speak again.

'Booth, its okay. I'm going to be okay…' Brennan stopped speaking, though, when she noticed the pained expression on her partner's face.

'What's the matter, Booth?'

'Please, Bones, don't. Just don't…'

'Don't what?' Booth looked her straight in the eye, and looked even more dismayed when he saw the genuine confusion there.

'Don't…comfort me like that. You don't have to say you're going to be fine, just for my sake…'

'But I…'

'No, Bones, you really don't need to waste your energy on trying to make me feel better.'

'But, Booth. Look at the bullet wound. Where it went in…'

Booth gave Brennan an odd look, before reluctantly complying. He looked down in confusion for a moment, but complete joy filled his features when he realised what he was seeing. A massive smile threatened to split his face in two, and the new light in his eyes made Brennan feel happy just by looking at him. He glanced around him, looking for one of the FBI agents. He called out for the closest one to find the medical kit in the back of his truck, and bring it into the warehouse. Minutes later he was back with a large white box marked with a red cross. Booth pulled the lid open and removed what looked like an Epipen, but had a complicated medical name printed down the side in bold red letters, which Brennan recognised as a local anaesthetic used by GPs.

He brought the painkiller over to Brennan, and asked with his eyes if it was okay for him to give it to her. Brennan nodded as eagerly as she could in her tired and injured state, and sighed as she felt the medicine starting to numb her leg. Seeing as she could now stand upright without any pain, Brennan jingled the chains over her head slightly to attract Booth's attention.

'Would you mind helping me down from here?' He quickly moved his hands up to hers, and took her weight as easily as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. But once she was off the hook he paused, and Brennan could see on his face that he was having some internal debate. A second later she realised what his conundrum was: whether or not to lower her arms. She pulled gently against his hands, letting him know that it was okay. His eyes dropped down to meet hers, full of anxiety, but at her reassuring glance he reluctantly began to lower her arms. The muscles contracted painfully, and Brennan let out a groan as the ache increased in intensity until it felt as though her arms were alight. Booth quickly finished lowering her arms, not wanting to prolong her pain. She found herself wishing that the anaesthetic wasn't so localised, but compared to everything else she was feeling, the burn of her exhausted muscles was rather insignificant.

With a pair of bolt cutters that seemed to appear out of nowhere, Booth sliced through the chains linking her hands, and quickly moved on to the ones wrapped around her ankles. Immense relief flooded through Brennan as she found herself able to separate her hands for the first time in days, and was able to wriggle her feet further apart.

Despite the localisation of the medicine, Brennan could feel herself becoming drowsy. Her head was drooping, and she felt as though her body was becoming heavier with each second.

'Bones.' Brennan looked up to see Booth holding his arms open, inviting her into a hug. She gratefully stepped into his arms with a sigh, her fatigue momentarily blocking her judgement.

As Booth wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her tightly against him, Brennan's sigh escalated rapidly into a gasp, and then into a shriek of pain. She pushed herself away, blindly trying to escape the pain and carelessly stumbling as quickly as she could. Her feet tangled in the discarded chains by her feet, sending her toppling to the ground. Her bare skin slapped loudly against the concrete, the sound echoing for a moment around the large open space of the warehouse. There was a beat of shocked silence, and everyone seemed to be frozen in place. The FBI agents stared warily from a distance, none of them really knowing what happened. Booth hadn't moved since Brennan had thrown herself away from him, and was looking down at her with alarmed and concerned eyes. Brennan lay on the ground, internally fighting as strongly as she could not to loose control, trying desperately to compartmentalise and not allow the cries pressing against her lips to escape. But, this final assault on her body was too much.

Booth stood frozen, staring down at his partner on the floor. He had no idea what happened. He had cut the chains around her wrists, and then the ones around her ankles. She had stood before him, looking so small and vulnerable, that he couldn't help but open his arms to her. She had willingly stepped into his embrace, but the moment he pulled her against him…

Booth eyes slowly roved to his hands, and he was shocked to see his palms stained with disturbingly large amounts of blood. His eyes darted back to the face of his prone partner, and saw her desperately trying to fight back yet another wave of tears.

Confusion rippled through his mind. What had gone wrong? Everything was fine moments before, but now he was watching in horror as sparkling tears began to trail down Brennan's cheeks. Thoughts and theories about what had just happened whirled through the forefront of his mind, a rapid-fire of intermingling ideas that were making little sense. He tore his eyes away from Brennan's tearstained face, his eyes frantically searching for something within the room that might be able to explain what was going on. A bench lay to his right, atop it a wicker basket, an empty box of bullets and an unsheathed knife. His eyes lingered on the knife for a moment, but the lack of blood on the blade made him move past it. His eyes scoured the room, until they came to rest on a pile of what looked like tangled black rope, which he now remembered seeing Gregory toss aside when he was running for his gun. He took a step closer but paused there, wanting to get closer but refusing to leave Brennan's side. He stared at the thing, desperately trying to understand. A moment later, though, the clump took shape in his mind as he realised what exactly it was.

He choked out a gasp, and turned to his prone partner in disbelief. His eyes darted to the body lying face-down a couple of meters away, refusing to believe that anyone would still stoop to such lows to extract revenge on people. Anger flared inside him like fire, making his hands ball into fists and his jaw clench. His eyes dropped back down to Bones, who was now sitting up facing him, her skin sickly pale and trembling slightly from the cold.

'Show me.' Booth's voice sounded curt and came out harsher than he intended, but the fury burning inside him prevented him from apologising. Brennan didn't move, instead sitting frozen in place, looking warily up at his smouldering features as though he might attack her next.

'Show me!' Booth immediately regretted raising his voice, and he felt his breath falter when he saw Brennan jump with fright and shock. But, with fear ingrained in her eyes and etched into her features, Brennan shakily rose from the floor. Her eyes met his, searching, hoping that the man she knew and loved was behind the anger somewhere. Seeing the vulnerability clearly displayed across her face, Booth felt even worse for what he had said. He took a slow step forward, and placed a gentle hand against Brennan's cheek.

'Please?' Her eyes hovered on his face for a moment, her fearful expression softening as she began to see the Booth that she remembered underneath the anger. She placed a chillingly cold hand against Booth's, entwining her fingers with his. She gently lowered it down, but didn't let go. Still keeping a tight hold on Booth's hand, she took a deep breath and turned to face away from him.

Booth heard the agents standing behind him murmuring, and heard one curse loudly at the sight before him. But Booth himself stayed silent. He stared at the wounds, his brain refusing to believe what his eyes were showing him. His mind was freezing up; the concept being presented was overwhelming his mind and preventing him from thinking straight. But he was brought back to reality when he felt a gentle squeeze against his fingers. His eyes darted up, and he found himself looking at the face of Brennan, who was looking back over her shoulder at him. Their eyes connected for a moment, before by some unspoken agreement Brennan turned and ran into Booth's open arms.

Wrapping his arms carefully around her neck, Booth pulled Brennan as close as he could, and felt comfort from the way her arms tightly clamped around his waist. Her face was hidden in his shirt, and her hands were grasping fistfuls of the once crisp cotton that was his shirt. He held her tightly, in what he hoped was a comforting manner, trying to let her know that he was there for her, no matter what.

This whole saga had opened his eyes; he couldn't keep playing around with his emotions like this. He had been toying with the idea that he might have feelings beyond that of a friend for his partner, but he had never looked at those emotions as anything more than fleeting flashes of lust or a simplistic crush. But the experience of having her ripped from his life in such a brutal and unexpected manner had shaken him in a way he didn't know was possible, and was something he never wanted to experience again.

And accompanying the feeling of grief that had befallen him while Brennan was missing was another feeling that took him a while to identify. But once he recognised it, there was no denying its presence. He was feeling remorse and guilt, for never letting the woman he now held in his arms know exactly how he felt for her. The regret he felt was so strong that initially he mistook it for the grief he was feeling for the loss the believed he was about to experience. But examining it in hindsight it was obviously something quite different.

The anger he was feeling from seeing his Bones violated in such a manner was fuelling his body with adrenaline, making him want to act on the feelings he was desperate to express. But just as he was about to open his mouth a twitch of movement caught his eye. His stomach sunk as he realised that he was being observed rather bluntly by the rest of the FBI team, each man's face decorated with a bemused smirk.

Booth quickly pulled his face back into check, and stonily stared at the FBI men. Unwrapping one arm from around Bones, he pointed at the two nearest agents to him, who straightened when they realised they had been caught watching.

'You two, go find out where the hell that ambulance is.' He moved his hand to point to the two remaining agents.

'And you, go call off the rest of the search. Then contact the Medico-legal lab at the Jeffersonian, and Director Cullen; let them know that we've found the target and she is safe. Inform Dr Saroyan at the Jeffersonian of the whereabouts of the hospital we are going to take Dr Brennan to, and let Cullen know I'll be taking the next three days off on leave. Now!'

The men quickly scurried from the room, leaving Brennan and Booth alone. But, unfortunately, any mood that may have been building between the pair had quickly diminished when Booth started yelling orders, and any slight hope of it regenerating disappeared when the sound of running heels echoed though the warehouse. Angela appeared around the end of the crate wall, Hodgins close at her side. She skidded to a halt however, when she took in the scene around her.

She stood frozen, staring at the woman in Booth's arms. Hodgins wrapped a concerned arm around her when he saw Angela was rapidly paling because of the sight before her, but not without letting a curse slip quietly from between his lips at the mutilation before him. Booth saw Angela's eyes begin to shine, before she roughly pulled herself from Hodgins' arms and fled the room. Hodgins stood staring, transfixed by the injuries riddling the body of his boss, before he gave a resigned sigh and followed Angela back outside.

Booth heard a mumble escape from Brennan's lips, and bent his head closer to hear.

'Sorry? Can you say that again, Bones?' She gave a small sniffle, and repeated her previous phrase, but her voice was a dull monotone and her eyes downcast.

'Am I really so ugly that even my best friend can't stand to see me anymore?' Booth pulled himself roughly from Brennan's arms and stormed across the room, seething with anger at her insecure statement. Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached the crate wall, and in his fury he flung his fist at it. The perishing wood crumbled under his fingers, splintering and catching in his skin. He yanked his hand back, cursing under his breath and cringing his eyes against the sting. But he immediately felt guilty. He had a couple of splinters in his hand, nothing a pair of tweezers and some disinfectant couldn't fix. But Bones was standing behind him, basically half naked, a gunshot wound to her leg, countless lacerations maiming her back, a bruise leaking out from her hairline, and god knows what else wrong with her. And that was just physically. The statement that had pushed him over the edge was evidence enough that her scarring wasn't just external.

He turned back around to see Brennan standing where he left her, an arm crossed over her bare stomach, her eyes staring solemnly at the floor. With an inward groan Booth realised that he hadn't made his thoughts obvious enough, and when he had pulled away Brennan's mind had automatically assumed it was because he agreed with her statement. He let out a sigh as he walked back to Brennan, hating the man lying dead on the ground beside them more and more every second. The Brennan that he knew had no issues with self confidence, and he knew it must have taken something terribly disturbing to make such a personality change. He came up beside her, and grasped one hand on each of her arms. He firmly held the pressure, not in an unpleasant way, but in what he hoped was comforting and supportive.

'There is nothing, _nothing_ the matter with you. You are beautiful. Nothing anyone could say or do can ever change that.'

'But, I'm…' Brennan feebly protested, but before she could continue Booth placed a calming hand on her cheek.

'Bones, that man was a psychopath. Anything he said to you, anything he _did _to you…you shouldn't allow it to compromise who you are. He's gone, I'm here. I'll keep you safe. And as long as I'm keeping you safe, you will never have to worry about being unwanted.'

A spark of hope lit in Brennan's eyes. Booth let out a chuckle and pulled her close to him once more. She nuzzled her head into his neck, and Booth pressed another kiss to the top of her head. But this kiss was not like its predecessor. The first kiss was passionate, filled with grief, and was certain that it was going to be one of the last.

But this kiss, it was different. He was soft and gentle, and a small smile caressed his features as he pulled away. He rested one arm across Brennan's shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest. Leading her slowly towards the exit, Booth glanced back over his shoulder at the scene behind him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the blood and gore, the instruments of torture and deadly weapons. He pulled Brennan a little closer, taking comfort from the warmth of her body in his arms. A warmth that had very nearly been extinguished before his eyes.

But what he had said was true, and he intended to uphold his promise for the rest of his life. He would always be there for his Bones, would always protect her, and be there for her through thick and thin. He suspected that she felt the same, and that she would promise him the same in a heartbeat. But even if she didn't, he knew he would always feel the same. All he wanted to do was drop to his knees before her and spill out his heart and soul to her, to let her know all he was desperate to share. But now was not the time. Instead he consoled himself with the fact that the love of his life was now safe in his arms, and as they hobbled out of the warehouse a contented smile spread across his face, letting the world know just how overjoyed he was with the outcome of the day.

**there you are, everyone hope it was enjoyed :P**

**hmmm....dont mind me, you see, im just trying to come up with a creative way to ask for more reviews...do you reckon typing that would count?**

**i hope so :D  
in case that was a bit too subtle for some people out there, that means i want reviews, if it isnt too much trouble.  
i have a thing where that if im going to favourite/alert something im gonna review it, so hopefully some of you people out there will adopt that too??**

**thanks for reading, and have a great weekend everyone!**


	12. Chapter 12

**I. Am. SO. SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**you must all hate me. im such a bad fanficcer :\  
i am being rather presumputive, that you lot enjoy my story enough that you care about the fact i havent updated since april *cringe***

**but yeah, FINALLY here is the next chapter. wooty woot  
and still, i dont own bones, same as every other disclaimer ive written :P**

Angela stumbled out the door of the warehouse, taking in shuddering gasps of air to try and calm herself. She placed a shaking hand against the wall of the building, trying to steady herself until she managed to calm down. She heard footsteps pounding along the cement that she had hastily crossed on her way out of the warehouse, and moments later Hodgins whirled around the corner. Their eyes met, both frozen in place for a second, before they both fell into each other's embrace. The horror-struck silence that had encompassed Angela inside the warehouse disintegrated at Hodgins' touch, but instead of starting to cry as Hodgins had expected, she began to whisper. He wasn't even sure if she was talking to him, or to anyone, but words were flowing from her lips at high speed regardless.

'How could he? How could anyone? Who cares what she did? So _what_ if his family was jailed! She was doing what was right, they were breaking the law. What made him think that he could possibly have the authority to decide the fate of another individual? How arrogant could you be, to think that you have the right to alter someone's life so greatly? Or, even, to end someone's life? How…' Angela trailed off into silence, staring forlornly into the space before her. Leaving an arm around her waist, Hodgins pulled out of the hug and began to guide Angela towards his car.

He held the passenger door open for her, and offered a supportive smile as he closed the door after her. Though he knew he was no expert on the female mind, he could tell that Angela was close to breaking point. Hell, anyone would be, after seeing their best friend in such a state. And if -but more likely when- Angela was tipped past that breaking point, and needed a shoulder to cry on, Hodgins wanted it to be him. So as he angled his car towards the DC hospital where Brennan was being sent, ready to meet her once her ambulance finally arrived and transported her there, Hodgins gently took Angela's hand in his. Angela entwined her fingers between his, and leaned back against her chair with an exhausted sigh. With one last glance at her still unrestful face, Hodgins pulled away from the warehouse.

As the dusty sand beneath the wheels of Hodgins' car swirled up into the air as he pulled away, Booth and Brennan stepped out of the warehouse. At first, Brennan's eyes flinched away from the light, her brow creased as the bright beams hit her face for the first time in days. But, as her eyes finally adjusted to the sun, she raised her eyes from the ground and for the first time in what felt like eternity she saw the sky. With a sigh she leant in closer to Booth, who instinctively wrapped his arm closer around her shoulders. He felt impossibly guilty for not having a jacket to offer her, but in his haste to leave the Jeffersonian he hadn't taken anything more that what he had on him at the time.

But it wasn't only the jacket. The whole time he had been searching for Bones he had been consumed by a desperate need to find her, and had let nothing else penetrate his troubled mind. But now that the fear that he might lose his Brennan, and the grief for the idea he already might have was gone, his mind was overwhelmed by another set of sombre emotions. But these were of failure. He was convinced that it was his fault, everything that had happened. She had called him, begged him for help in her hour of need. But he had shown up too late, and had taken much too long to find her. She was on the verge of being tortured to death, and he could tell that even though she wasn't killed the recovery was going to be long and painful.

And even when he had finally found her, he had almost failed in the most vital of ways. He had allowed a shot to be fired; he had lost control of the situation. If there was the tiniest change in the way events had played out, he would not be walking out with Brennan in his arms. She could have been the one, slowly cooling on the cement floor of that warehouse, the one that would leave in the body bag. His heart ached at the thought of what nearly happened, and his head whirled when he contemplated what very nearly happened.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind was telling him that he was overreacting, that the blame he was laying on himself was irrational. But the other emotions rolling around his mind were stronger, darker, and so much more all-consuming that any rationality was drowned in a sea of negativity.

Booth gently guided Brennan away from the warehouse, to an old crate where they could sit and wait for the ambulance to arrive. As Booth sat down on the cool metal surface, he heard something jingle in his pocket. He slipped his hand in, and his fingers wrapped around the bracelet that he had placed there before they raided the warehouse. He had completely forgotten that it was there. He pulled it out and silently took Brennan's hand in his own. He clasped the bracelet gently around her wrist, but even once it was there he didn't let her hand drop back to her lap.

'I found this outside before we…' he trailed off, not quite knowing what to say. His eyes moved to Brennan's face, but there was no emotion visible there. He could see her mind whirring as she looked down to the bracelet now clasped to her wrist. It was almost as though she didn't recognise it anymore, as though she had forgotten of its existence. An inwardly cynical voice nagged at him, insisting that she hadn't actually dropped the bracelet for him to find, but that it had just been lost in the struggle into the warehouse. She was just surprised to see it, it insisted, that was all. His heart sank as the silence extended, and he looked away with sheepish embarrassment for believing that something that was obviously so insignificant to her could actually have made her feel any better.

But before any more than a few seconds had passed, he felt the woman beside him wrap her arms around his chest. She rested her face against his shoulder, whispering her thanks into his ear. He longed to stay in her embrace, but it only took a glance at her face to see that the position she was in was causing her a lot of pain. He gently pried her arms from his waist, but firmly kept her hands in his as they sat and waited. It was only moments later that the ambulance rounded the corner and rolled up the road, coming to a slow halt beside the police cars.

Two paramedics got out of the vehicle and began to walk over to where they could see the assemblage of police officers outside the warehouse doors, but they quickly waved them in our direction. When they saw them sitting on the solitary crate by the water's edge they made their way over. Their expressions morphed as they walked, from what was initially curiosity to concern, and then to horror as they saw the state the woman beside Booth was in. He felt her discomfort at the attention, and squeezed her hand tighter in his to let her know that she wasn't alone. She squeezed it back with just as much force, but that was the only sign she gave away of her displeasure at the situation.

The two young men began to give Brennan a quick run down with as much professionalism as could be expected in a case such as this, but even they weren't able to hide their disgust when they saw the mutilated flesh of her back. One swore under his breath but quickly masked it with a cough, while the other went as pale as a sheet, and ran a hand through his short hair as he quickly turned away. Booth observed this closely, making sure neither man decided to do or say anything that might offend the woman beside him. But, to his dismay, even at these small displays of shock and disgust, he saw Brennan's head droop forward, her features pinched with embarrassment and shame.

Booth shot a dark look at the two paramedics, and drew his thumb over his throat in what he hoped was a gesture to tell them to cut it out. The paling man turned whiter still, freezing where he stood. His eyes were glued to the gun holstered at Booth's hip, his mouth slightly agape with shock and fear. The other paramedic moved to his side and physically turned him around, instructing him to head back to the ambulance and prepare to wheel the gurney over. As the man hurried away he shot a fearful glance back at Booth over his shoulder, and with an internal jolt of understanding, Booth realised that the man must have interpreted his signalling wrong.

He couldn't help but feel that this was yet another failing of his. He had promised mere minutes before that he would protect Brennan, but even after such a short time he was already failing miserably. Booth watched the man make his slow return back over to their position, wheeling the bed along beside him, his eyes carefully trained on his task and never rising to meet his observer's. Booth robotically got to his feet and helped Brennan stand beside him, before gently leading her over to the bed. She sat lightly on the edge, her legs dangling off the end, but once there she refused to let go of Booth's hand. He felt a pang of cynical pity; he was sorry that she had chosen him to be the one she relied on, seeing as he was obviously such a failure at keeping her from harm.

But, seeing as she had chosen him, his sense of chivalry prevented him from leaving her side. He longed to go home, find the largest bottle of whiskey he owned and to forget this week had ever happened, but one look at her scared and pleading eyes prevented him from doing any such thing. He wished with all his heart that he was good enough for her, that she had a true knight in shining armour in him, but just one glance at even the smallest of her injuries reinforced his idea that he wasn't up to scratch, and solidified the recently rock-bottom opinion that he had formed of himself. Despising himself all the while, Booth walked silently beside Brennan as she was wheeled to the ambulance, and climbed in after her when she was lifted inside.

The pristine interior was slightly off-putting, especially in comparison to the less-than-hygienic warehouse that they had just come from. Feeling out of place in his bloodstained and dirtied suit, Booth moved to sit on the chair beside the gurney, but Brennan grasped his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. Pulling on his arm, Brennan patted the bed next to her.

'Sit here…please…' she asked with a tiny smile, and with a small internal sigh Booth moved beside her. He felt hardly worthy to be in the same vehicle as her, let alone sitting next to her. The large doors were slammed behind them, and the two medics got into the front of the truck. They slowly began to drive away, and with a gentle sigh Brennan leant her head against Booth's shoulder, and as much as he despised himself for it, Booth enjoyed the trusting touch.

Glancing down at Brennan's face, he saw her features were fatigued but desperately fighting sleep. Her eyelids drooped, but she willed herself to stay awake, blinking heavily with the effort. Booth's heart reached out to her, with understanding that few others would comprehend. After his own time of being captured and tortured, he remembered doing the exact same thing. He had longed for sleep, but was also deathly afraid of slipping from consciousness and allowing his mind to be taken over by the inevitable nightmares that were sure to come. He rubbed gentle circles across the back of her hand empathetically, trying to remember what he found most comforting at the time.

With a small smile, he thought of something that he knew Brennan would appreciate: music. He leaned forward and tapped one of the medics on the shoulder, and quietly asked him to turn on the radio. The man complied, and moments later the smooth voice of the radio presenter began to flow through the speakers. Brennan gave an audible sigh, and her shoulders slumped into a slightly more relaxed stance. A flicker of hope sparked in the back of Booth's mind, maybe he was starting to get things right with Brennan now. If he could use his experiences as a prisoner for probably the only positive thing that they could ever be used for, maybe he could forgive himself for the immeasurable failure of letting his Bones be taken in the first place. Maybe.

Seeing that Brennan was as content as could be expected in the situation, Booth let his focus wander. His eyes trailed over the assorted medical equipment filling the back of the car in a somehow messy-yet-organised fashion, out the back window and to the highway speeding out from beneath them. His eyes lingered on the dark bitumen, but his focus shifted to the voice of the radio host who was presenting the end of the news.

'…and the portrait is expected to sell for upwards of $50 000 dollars. Now, for all you folks wondering how to spend the rest of your weekend, we have Tony the weatherman in the studio to tell us just how sunny it's gonna be!'

'Thanks for that introduction, Matt…' a new man began to speak, his deep voice sporting a Central American accent that immediately reminded Booth of long-since finished holidays to the Caribbean during his college days.

Booth was snapped out of his nostalgic reverie, however, when the woman beside him let out a horrified shriek. She was on her feet in a second, standing by the door and smashing her palms against the glass.

'Let me out! Let me OUT!' she cried desperately, and moments later the ambulance swerved to the side of the road. She threw the door open and disappeared out the gap, and with a groan Booth got to his feet and dashed after her. He glanced around quickly, and when he saw Brennan running down the road towards a large tree planted on the curb. Booth sprinted after her, still slightly bewildered as to what had triggered such a strong response in his partner. He saw her dart around the tree, and when he reached it himself he slowed to a walk. His reeling mind was trying desperately to put the pieces together, and moments later he was overwhelmed with a wave of aghast understanding. Tony the Weatherman, whose accent he had so relished, was the trigger. His deep, rumbling voice was almost identical to Gregory's, with their origins so similar.

Shaking his head, hardly believing their bad luck, Booth rounded the tree to see Brennan sitting at its base. She was curled over, her head resting on her knees, and her body trembling so much that the long grass around her quivered as well.

'Bones?' Booth asked in a tentative voice, and when she did nothing more to respond than to suck in a loud gasp of air, he decided it was safe for him to sit down next to her. They sat in silence for a moment, nothing making any sound around them but the cool breeze rustling the leaves above them.

'Bones, I…' Booth began, but before he could say another word Brennan threw herself into his arms.

'Help me, Booth.' She whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Booth returned her embrace without a second thought, forgetting any of the insecure feelings that he thought before. No longer thinking he didn't know how, he let his instincts tell him how best to help Brennan, and with a jolt he realised that he really was the best one to help her through.

He had failed, and he knew that. It would take him years to repent, and he knew without a doubt that it was the biggest slip-up of his life. But Brennan trusted him; he was the only one she had spoken to since being rescued, the only one that hadn't flinched away at the sight of her injuries. He knew she must be feeling outcast, shunned, and almost completely alone, having experienced exactly the same thing. And, maybe because of this bond, or even for some other entirely different reason he hadn't made the connection to yet, Brennan had latched herself wholeheartedly to him. She was desperate for his protection, and it was only now, when he had her quivering body in his arms, that he realised he needed to stop being selfish and start thinking about her.

He gently stroked her hair, murmuring soothing nothings into her ear. He felt her hands sliding lightly over his arms, neck, shoulders; she needed the human contact, he understood, so he pulled her even closer.

'Help me…' she mumbled again, her face now resting against his muscular shoulder. He felt the cool drip of a tear splash against his throat and, placing his hand against the side of her face, gently wiped the tears away.

'We'll get you through this, Bones, we'll get you through.' Hugging her close to his chest, but carefully avoiding any injuries, Booth pressed a gentle kiss against her temple. They sat together in a soothing silence, until Brennan had stopped shaking and her breathing had slowed to a normal pace once more. Booth then got to his feet, and helped Brennan to her own, and squeezed her hand gently.

'Ready to go back to the car?' Brennan nodded, but as she took one step her knees buckled and she collapsed into Booth's waiting arms. Glancing down, Booth saw that the denim of Brennan's jeans was soaked with new blood, and winced as he realised Brennan's mad sprint away from the ambulance must have aggravated the gunshot injury there even further.

An embarrassed blush darkened Brennan's cheeks, but Booth pretended that he didn't notice. He lifted her arm around his shoulders, taking most of her weight so that she would be able to walk herself to the ambulance. They slowly hobbled along the side of the deserted road, Brennan's face set in a determined grimace as she forced the pain aside so she could reach her destination. When they got back to the ambulance they saw the two medics were hovering at the back doors to the vehicle, looking both awkward and concerned about their patient. Booth gave a small smile and a nod, and the two men relaxed as they realised their patient was okay. Opening the doors, they helped Brennan back into the car, and shut the doors after them when Booth joined her inside. Brennan sat back down on the bed, and Booth resumed his position beside her, but this time he felt no guilt in enjoying her touch.

The engine started back up, and the ambulance pulled slowly back out onto the road. Again, unlike the last time he was here, he no longer felt bad about what he was doing. With an inwards sigh of relief he found that he had come to terms with what he had done. While the guilt still niggled at the back of his mind, and he knew that there would be many times when he would have to deal with that, he had found a way to suppress his feelings of failure and put Brennan's happiness first. He pulled her back into his arms, providing her with a soft surface to lean her broken body against, and settled back against the wall of the ambulance, at last feeling ready to help his Bones through this ordeal.

**whew. you dont know how much effort it took to get that chapter out...writers block would be an understatement.  
****  
but ive been writing other stuff if youre interested...any harry potter fans out there??? oh, if you are, look up A Very Potter Musical on youtube. funniest thing i have ever seen in my whole entire life :D**

**...back to this, though, thanks for reading, and please leave me a review! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi all**

**another new chapter (im not quite sure why i begin with this...its not as though im ever going to be uploading old material or anything...hmm)**

**anyways, i figured out why i was finding this incredibly hard to continue to write: i didnt know what was going to happen next.  
but that small glitch in the workings of this tale has been remedied, so now i actually have a purpose, i find writing a lot easier, as you can imagine**

**i cannot remember who, but someone suggested in a review that i do some of the rescue from angela + hodgins perspective, but that didnt fit in at that point in time  
now, however, it works quite nicely, so i hope you enjoy, my reviewing friend**

**and everyone else. EVERYONE ENJOY! :)  
**

Angela stretched out her aching back, rearranging herself on the hard plastic chair she had claimed five hours prior. She was yet to relinquish her seat, beyond the moments it took to dash to the bathroom or to run to the side of any doctor who happened to come her way. To her disappointment, however, her vigilance in staying by her friend's side had been rather fruitless, except to amplify her anxious impatience and concern without providing any reassurance or comfort.

A coffee that had slowly deteriorated from steaming hot to chillingly cold rested on a bland table beside her, discarded almost as soon as it was acquired for her by an unnaturally stoic Hodgins hours before. The man himself was slouched in his own chair to Angela's right, his head resting against the wall and his eyes closed in a light slumber. Angela envied his ability to put aside the horrors of the past few days, and particularly the scene at the warehouse.

The guilt at her reaction to seeing Brennan in that warehouse was overwhelming. Twirling a dangling lock of hair between her fingers, Angela began to glumly reminisce the events from earlier that day.

_The strangling tendrils of despair wrapped themselves around my heart as we found the last of our warehouses to be empty. I couldn't help but feel we were wrong, that somehow the logic that we had thought was infallible was flawed, and through our errors we had potentially lost the life of a friend.__ Not just a friend, but the kindest and closest friend that I had ever known._

_I anxiously looked around, and with another strand of despair adding its smothering grasp to my heart, saw two of the other three rescue teams traipsing back towards our collected vehicles at the entrance. I slowed my pace, dropping back until__ Hodgins strode beside me, his footsteps heavy and his eyes downcast. I slipped my hand into his, taking comfort from the half-hearted squeeze he gave in return. _

_The gravel crunched beneath out feet as we trudged back towards the entrance, the eerie silence suddenly pressing in around us making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle unpleasantly. Something didn't feel right, and it wasn't just the disappointment of not finding Brennan on our search. Hodgins tightened his grip around my fingers, and when I glanced I found his expression to be troubled also. The group collectively slowed, and around me I heard the quiet clicks as the officers accompanying us prepared their weapons, raising the tension tenfold. _

_Then, right on cue, we heard two__ gunshots and a scream. Without realising what I was doing, I took hasty steps in the direction of the noise, ignoring the hushed and urgent orders for me to stop coming from all around me. Hodgins' hand wrenched me back to his side by the wrist and, pressing a finger to my lips, he instantly silenced me. The agents surrounding us were rapidly conversing in hand signals, and moments later the group split in two, some heading for the warehouse where the horrible sounds had sourced from, the rest herding Hodgins and myself back towards the exit to the boatyard. I desperately looked over my shoulder as we passed the warehouse, itching to see what was happening inside. I could see the door, could see the two men standing at the entrance. I could see a third, frantically talking into a mobile phone, and as I looked another man dashed out of the building to Booth's car. He rummaged in the trunk, before pulling out a first aid kit and running back inside. My heart plummeted. That could mean so many things, and the only outcomes my mind could see were the very worst. As we came to a halt beside Booth's car, another man stuck his head out the door, calling for someone to bring him bolt cutters. A pair were retrieved from another agent's car, and hurriedly given to the agent who took them back inside. _

_And then there was silence. I searched the faces of the men guarding the door, and the relative calm in their expressions did something to ease my soul. Until another heartbreaking cry echoed out from inside the building. A tense silence fell, and moments after she heard Booth's voice shouting, the words rendered inarticulate by distance and disfigured by the echoing concrete building. An even shorter silence passed than the one before, after which she heard numerous voices inside, raised in tones of disgust and disbelief. And then there was movement inside, and the collection of agents that were inside the warehouse traipsed outside, two approaching the man who had been on the phone, and the others quickly moving towards the suited man who had greeted Booth so scathingly, but who now wore an expression on concern and sombreness that he knew the gravity of the situation. _

_At this point my heart was aching, desperate to know what had transpired, no matter the outcome. Even the gravest of news was better than the unbearable, tantalising waiting game that we were playing. I glanced around the assemblage of agents, noticing that they were all quite preoccupied with their tasks. Under the cover of their distraction, I slipped away, towards the entrance to the warehouse. I heard Hodgins call my name quietly but desperately, and then his footsteps following me when I made no response. We quickly reached the door and entered the room, Hodgins still trying to get me to turn back. I picked up my pace, finding the main area to be empty, and the only place not visible was a corner obscured by a wall of rotting crates. I took a deep breath and rounded the corner, and immense relief filled me when I saw Brennan standing, alive, encased in Booth's warm embrace. This relief disappeared a nanosecond later, as I took in Brennan's physical state. Her back mangled beyond recognition, her bloodstained jeans, the seeping wound in her leg which I realised, with a jolt, most probably was from a gunshot. _

_My mind went into overload. Questions swirled around my head, some grim and weighty, like whether Brennan would survive her array of injuries, and some bizarrely trivial, like whether she had remembered to put the trash out the night before her kidnap. I felt light headed; soon the stupid, trivial questions disappeared from my mind, leaving only the worst of the horrible potential outcomes of this ordeal. Death and debilitation were in the forefront of my mind, shadowed with other ominous possibilities such as mental scarring and extensive rehabilitation. My eyes welled with tears, it was all too much, and when I felt the comforting touch of Hodgins' arm around my shoulders I could stand it no longer. I bolted from the room, in a vague attempt to salvage my quickly deteriorating consciousness, and prevent my breaking down there and then. _

As she reminisced, Angela felt her heart sink even further. Her cowardice and selfishness, neither of which she recognised at the time, were increasingly prominent every time she replayed the scene in her mind. Hodgins was right to try and stop her. He knew that she would not be able to take almost any fate that Brennan was subjected to, but she had still persisted in going inside, without any knowledge of the fates of those within, to satisfy her selfish urge to know what had transpired.

What she had seen had caused her so much distress that she had to flee the sight, to such an extent that she had been diagnosed with a mild case of post traumatic stress when she had attracted the concerned attention of a passing doctor in the halls of the hospital. But this diagnosis meant nothing to Angela. She knew that her reaction to her friend's injuries would not have been understood by Brennan, even on the best of days. She was horrified to learn from an unnaturally frosty Booth that Brennan had thought she was now repulsive to her best friend, and rather than being hurt by Booth's cold demeanour, she felt as though she deserved to be looked down upon by everyone she knew. In her friend's hour of need, she had not only deserted her, but helped to inflict further damage to her already battered and broken body and mind.

Angela allowed her eyes to roam around the sparsely-filled waiting room, hardly absorbing the sights and sounds of the others around her. A new father, being clapped on the shoulder by his companions as he glowingly delivered the news of a healthy baby boy; a middle-aged mother, pointedly avoiding looking at her daughter beside her, who was cradling what Angela recognised as an infected tattoo on her wrist. Besides these two small groups, it was only Hodgins, Booth and herself in the pristine white room.

Angela found her eyes lingering on the heartbreaking form of Booth. He leant forward, with his head in his hands, hiding his face from the world. He still wore the bloodstained and now ruined suit that he had worn all day, his fingers were still crusted with dirt and blood from the scene. His jaw was dusted with stubble, from the days that he has put aside his own needs and channelled all his energies into finding their lost companion. Angela knew if she could see his eyes that they would be bloodshot from fatigue, that their normally warm glow would be dulled from the emotional turmoil of this agonising week.

But with a quantum of relief, she had noticed that some of the tension had seeped out of his posture, and that his face had shown a glint of determination amid the guilt and sorrow when he had rushed in the door, holding Brennan's hand as she sat atop the gurney, until the nurses had to practically pry them apart so she could enter the operating theatre. Soon after this, Booth had assumed his statuesque position across the room, and was yet to move.

It was times like these, Angela observed with mild gloom, which accentuated just how much these two kindred spirits deserved to be together. Angela knew that, if their roles were reversed, Brennan would be waiting just as diligently outside, if not inside the operating theatre. They would both allow the doctors to do their doctoring, the surgeons to do their operating, but once it was all said and done they would be the ones ready and waiting to start their counterpart on the true road to recovery. It seemed a pity, however, that it was only times filled with great amounts of loss, horror, pain or grief that seemed to extract the desperate intimacy between the pair, just longing to be released.

Angela was pulled from her reverie by a set of determined footsteps echoing down the hospital hallway, and her eyes were met with the sight of a grim-faced doctor now standing in the doorway to the waiting room.

'Mr Booth?' His head snapped up out of his hands at the sound of his name, exposing for the first time in hours his countenance, and revealing its tear-stained state. He brushed his hand across his cheeks and as he walked, ran a hand through his dark hair in an attempt to liven his senses. Angela was at his side in an instant as was Hodgins, leading Angela to think that his apparent nap may not have been as peaceful as it had seemed.

The doctor himself was a 30-something residential, who had spent much of his career specialising in road accident victims. He had seen many shocking, sickening and saddening injuries in his time as a practicing doctor, but even looking at the words written on the case file he held in his hands reminded him of how much worse this unfortunate patient of his was than any other he had treated before. As he had walked into the waiting room he could tell immediately which of the group were there for Ms Brennan. As he had called the unfamiliar name on the file before him, he saw the three rise from their seats and approach him, and although they may not all have rushed as quickly as Mr Booth, he could see in the eyes of all three the same hungry longing to know the fate of their obviously close friend. He closed his eyes and sucked in a calming breath- reporting news of this nature was always difficult and unnerving for him. Glancing down at the papers before him once more, he met the eyes of Booth with a firm but empathetic gaze, and began to explain in what he hoped was the most painless way possible.

*

From the dark confines of the living room, he was beginning to feel nervous. The agreed contact period had come and passed, but this could be due to any number of things. Or so he told himself. Pacing between the coffee table and the musty couch, Nicholas Freedman didn't quite know what to do with himself. He knew that visiting the warehouse, or even his old home was completely out of the question less he wished to possibly implicate himself further in the case, but he was quite unnerved by the break in Mr Clarke's usually exact routine.

He flung himself into a lounge seat and grabbed the television remote, flicking on the small TV resting on a cabinet in the corner. A familiar jingle was playing on screen, signalling the beginning of the evening news broadcast. Nicholas tossed the remote from hand to hand, having little interest in the transmission, but relishing in the new sights and sounds to distract his troubled senses. A suitably grave news reporter appeared on-screen, with a photo inset of a beachside warehouse showing beside her face. Nicholas stopped his fiddling, his rapt attention now on the screen.

'...in a shocking rescue mission just this afternoon, acclaimed author and forensic analyst Doctor Temperance Brennan was freed from her captors in a warehouse district of Washington DC. In a statement released by the FBI earlier this afternoon by Director Sam Cullen, we learned that the famed author with titles such as 'Red Tape, White Bones' and 'Bred in the Bone' was abducted from her office in the Jeffersonian Institute earlier in the week, and that a team of investigators have been tirelessly working to secure her safety since. Dr Brennan was rushed to hospital upon her recovery from the scene, while further investigation is being carried out upon the identity of her abductor, who was killed at the scene. We now cross to...'

The rest of the report fell upon the deaf ears of Nicholas Freedman, whose mind was sent reeling by the sudden and unexpected news. With an angry roar he flung the idle television remote across the room, where it clattered against the plaster walls as it tumbled to the floor. He had known, of course, that things were not going to run as smoothly as he and Gregory had originally hoped, but this...this was madness. With a paranoid glance out his window, Nicholas made his way over to a dilapidated desk in the corner of the room. He yanked open a draw, tossing sheets of intricate planning for his day of revenge aside, and pried the false bottom up, revealing a pistol which he grabbed. He checked the gun was loaded, before closing it with an ominous click. His associate had failed, their target still lived. Tucking the gun into a hidden holster in his jacket Nicholas made his way to the door, his mind set to complete the task that he set out to accomplish: the murder of Temperance Brennan.

**There we go. **

**Thanks again to anyone who has given suggestions for the story- i'd give names but filtering through 200 odd reviews is a bit of a task (where these 200 reviews came from is a wonderful mystery to me- thankyou all dearly for them)**

**Well, now that this story has some fuel beyond the general angst of every character ever invented, i believe that a faster update shall be in order...hopefully**

**I hope you all enjoy what i hope is an unexpected plot twist, and should you wish to give a comment, or a suggestion feel free (as you can see by this chapter, it can influence the plot somewhat)**

**there are plenty of evil, angsty, potentially lethal thoughts buzzing around my head as to how this will pan out...but we shall see *evil smile*  
**

**thanks for reading! :)  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: This just in: A new study has confirmed that the readers of 'The Forensic Anthropologist in the Warehouse' are totally awesome. According to Dr. XedwardismyromeoX, who conducted the study, it was found that readers "reviewed like the wind" and "were extremely flattering." In an interview she said, "We expected these results at the beginning of our study, because readers have been found to be fantastic in the past, but frankly, we were astonished by the advanced levels of awesomeness exhibited by the test subjects. We had to build a new awesometer." All of the participants in the study received a David Boreanaz clone as compensation. Anyone who would like to participate in the ongoing study can simply review the following chapter and they will be automatically entered. **

**A/N regarding the A/N: Sadly, I did not make that up. But, it is mildly amusing, and I know you all want one of those David Boreanaz clones...**

**CLAIMER of the DIS variety: I do not own the characters, just my slightly evil plot developments :D enjoy *evil smile***

Booth took a deep breath as the doctor finished his speech, trying to rein in his reeling mind. Amid the physician's medical jargon, he had gathered that Brennan was in a serious yet stable condition, but they weren't quite sure how the situation was going to develop. She was currently being pumped with every antibiotic known to man, to prevent any wound from going septic, which would be almost catastrophic at this stage. He mentioned that her body had been extremely dehydrated when she arrived at the hospital, and she had lost a lot of blood during her ordeal. There was some mention of infection, of stitches and of bandaging, but Booth hardly absorbed any of that. Having heard that she was stable was a great relief, but the ominous words that had accompanied the statement were driving him to distraction.

There was a moment of silence when the doctor finished his explanation, before Booth realised that he was obliged to speak.  
'I...' Booth sighed, his exhausted brain refusing to think of a sociable phrase and begging him to ask the one question he really cared about.  
'Can we see her now?' His dejection tainted his voice, and he saw the doctor's firm expression soften slightly.  
'I can take the three of you in momentarily, but I am afraid only one of you will be able to stay in the room with her overnight. Policy doesn't even really allow that, but I'll make sure you are left alone.'

Booth heard Angela's voice responding, organising, working out what he could not. He saw Hodgins hovering beside her, acting as the second pair of ears and eyes that he himself would normally be. Gratitude flooded his exhausted soul, at knowing that -for once- he could let someone else take the reins. Conversation sluggishly snaked around his mind, the words curling through his subconscious aimlessly until he heard the phrase 'Quickly now, let's get moving'.

The doctor ushered them down a hallway, through a small white door and down a skinny white passage. Medical machinery lined the walls in an oxymoronic tidy yet dishevelled manner, and the stark walls were broken up by doors marked 'Storeroom' or 'Janitor'. Through a door and around a bend, the doctor gave a reassuring smile, saying they were nearly there. The end of the corridor was in sight, with large doors leading out to what seemed to be the main ward invitingly awaiting their arrival. Noise from the corridor outside leaked through, and a man dressed in janitor's clothes appeared from a room to their left, following them down the remainder of the passageway. The doctor surreptitiously glanced out the exit, before sweeping the trio out into the wider space beyond the door. Private rooms extended from this corridor, filled with bed-ridden patients with individual names inscribed upon the doors. Little scenes flew past as they slipped down the hallway; an elderly gentleman watching a slow tennis match on his television, a middle aged woman murmuring to a nurse who was holding her wrist, a youthful man asphyxiated with bandages, his beautiful young wife silently weeping at his side.

A few paces further and the doctor slowed, and Booth saw a nameplate resting on a slightly ajar door, bearing the title 'Ms Temperance Brennan.' As the janitor, who had trailed slowly behind them, rattled past with his trolley, Booth felt anxiety flood his veins. Even from his place outside the room, Booth could hear the steady bleeping of the heart monitor, a sound which he somehow despised and loved at the same time. The sound was always associated with the worst experiences of his life, the ones where he or someone he cared for dearly had been pushed that bit too far; that same bleeping was omnipresent in every memory of those difficult times. But the sound also symbolised that, somehow, the soul inside the room was still struggling to survive, holding on to the threads of life with all its might.

Regardless, the steady mechanical noise was far from comforting as the door was slowly swung open.

Brennan was dwarfed by the bed, the gown, the room. Everything looked oversized compared to her drained and diminished body. Her skin was translucent, and the intravenous drip looked like a horrifying mutation extending from her frail arm. Her eyes were closed, but beneath the lids they frantically darted, oblivious to the outside world but obviously ensnared in some subconscious nightmare. Her hair contrasted darkly with her skin, highlighting the blemishes and cuts and bruises against the pale canvas of her face.

Somehow, this sight was almost as heart-wrenching as seeing her chained in the warehouse. At least she had been awake, mind whirring and defiant, despite being so helplessly bound. Now, however, she looked broken. What had happened to the lucid Brennan, the one that had conversed with him, the one that hugged his chest and held his hand? The one that had, despite her horrific state, appeared alive? For this Brennan did not look at all alive. Drowning in a sea of cotton sheets, she looked just as defenceless as she had before.

'Oh God...' Booth dropped to his knees beside the bed, clasping Brennan's chilled fingers in his own, and bowed his head until it drooped against her rough sheets. It was only since arriving at the hospital did the gravity of his partner's condition register in his mind. Adrenalin had fuelled them both through the rescue and their arrival at the hospital, almost convincing him that after a bit of cleaning up his Brennan might be on her way home in a couple of days. One glance at her now told him he was gravely mistaken. How could he have been so stupid? He had seen the extent of her injuries, _heard_ her screaming in agony as they were inflicted, but he had somehow fooled his mind into believing the facade raised by her body's immune system.

He ran a trembling thumb over her bruised wrist, tears prickling at his eyes. Her cries had haunted him for the entirety of her surgery. The heartbreaking, piercing sound echoed in his ears, just as the shatteringly painful image of her beautiful face twisting in suffering haunted his mind the moment his eyes closed.

He brought his other hand up to the bed, clasping Brennan's between his own. He clamped his eyes shut, and quietly, almost inaudibly, began to pray.

When Booth looked up next, he could hear people quietly walking, and vulnerable confusion widened his eyes as he saw Angela and Hodgins heading for the door.  
'Where are you going? Don't you want to stay...?' Angela gave a sympathetic smile, her hand resting on the door handle.  
'Anyone can see that you need some time together, Booth. We'll come back in the morning with some breakfast for you. Just try to get some rest, if you can.' She opened the door and slipped back out into the corridor, and Hodgins followed after throwing Booth an empathetic smile.

Empty silence pressed against Booth's ears as he knelt beside the bed, his red-rimmed eyes resting solemnly upon his partner's injury-riddled face. Her hair fell across her brow and drooped across one eye; Booth lifted a hand to brush the curls aside. His hand was feather light, he was so afraid of hurting her. She looked so fragile, so breakable. A wave of sadness washed over him; of all the people for this to happen to, the universe had to select Brennan. This would be such a blow to her. Some people could cope with resting for months on end, and find ways to feel productive during that time. But not Brennan. She yearned to be out in the field, working hands on and experiencing everything for herself. While there were aspects of her job that required desk work, but Booth knew it was the days when she would be going out to investigate that were her favourite. He had seen the way her eyes always lit up whenever he came to her door, speaking of suspects and evidence and questioning that just could not be done from inside the Jeffersonian. And now he had taken that away from her.

In the hours of waiting for news of the surgery, the small sliver of self confidence that he had gained had quickly diminished. Dark thoughts of self blame had come to continue their barraging attack on his guilty heart, and all those hours of bleak uncertainty left much time for anguished contemplation of just how many failings Booth had tallied against his name. He had failed as a son, letting his father abuse both his mother and brother as well as himself; he had failed in the army, letting his youngest recruit come fatally into the line of fire; he had failed in providing a family for his son, following his estrangement from Rebecca; and now he had, through carelessness, failed his partner, the only woman he had ever...

Eyes brimming with sorrow, Booth leant forward and brushed his hand against Brennan's cheek, quietly murmuring.  
'I'm sorry.'

Her response was so quiet he almost missed it. Hardly articulate, it was more of a mumble than a word, but to Booth's well trained ear he knew exactly what it was.  
'Booth?' At the sound of his name Booth's heart skipped a beat; his hands flew to Brennan's and gripped them tightly.  
'Bones? Bones, can you hear me?' She gave a low moan, crunching her eyes together before slowly letting them creep open.  
'Booth...' He cringed at her voice; it sounded so weak, as though she was on the verge of tears.  
'Bones, I'm here, I'm right here.' His voice wavered slightly at the end of the sentence, and he furiously swallowed to quash the sound. Her fingers gently squeezed back at his grip, her eyes slowly blinking to focus on his.  
'W...where...' the word whooshed out in a tiny gasp of air, but once again Booth almost instinctively knew what she wanted to know.

'You're in St. Catherine's, in one of the private suites. Do you remember coming here?'  
'I remember...the radio...' Booth cringed; of all the things to remember, did her tortured mind really have to pick that one incident?  
'I'm so sorry, Bones. I'm so sorry.'  
'You can't...be blamed...for the radio presenter...' she spluttered out the last word, before a rattling cough erupted from her lips. Booth squeezed her hands tighter, hoping desperately that the sudden movement wouldn't do any damage. But when her body curved forward with the strain, and she gave a sharp yelp of pain he could not restrain himself any longer. Sliding onto the bed beside her, Booth held her steady as she heaved, and felt his eyes prickle with emotion at the unstoppable force barraging his partner's already exhausted body. The horrible choking sound gradually lessened, to be replaced with a strong gasping as Brennan tried to regain control. Booth ran his hand ever so lightly, ever so carefully across her shoulders and neck. A weak whimper slipped through Brennan's lips and Booth, thinking he had pushed her fatigued body too far, made to get off the bed.  
'No!' Brennan rasped, her hand flying to Booth's toned arm. He froze when she made contact, his eyes locked on hers. The only sound filling the silence was the throbbing of the heart monitor. Brennan swallowed, trying to relieve her dry throat, before she spoke again.  
'Stay.'

Booth held the eye contact, his eyes anxiously searching hers, making sure he understood and didn't do anything rash. Seeing the complete honesty and trust there, however, Booth gently kicked off his shoes. Shedding his coat and draping it over a chair, Booth climbed back onto the stiff cotton sheets. Lithely Booth slipped in behind Brennan, one leg on either side of her unnaturally frail body, and pulled her back to lean against his chest. A contented sigh blew through her lips, and she rested her head in the crook of his neck. He could almost feel her energy draining, as she seemed to melt against his body, her eyes drooping from sudden exhaustion.

'Booth?'  
'Mmm?' Brennan felt his chest vibrate as he responded, and snuggled slightly closer.  
'It's not your fault.' Booth didn't say anything for some time, his chest rhythmically rising and falling with each breath.  
'What do you mean?' He eventually asked, trying to keep his voice light and soothing.  
'None of it. Anything that's happened... I don't blame you.'

Booth ran a hand over his face, the all-consuming guilt he had been experiencing attacking him again with full force.  
'How can you possibly not blame me, Bones? If I had only got there sooner...'  
'You could never have got there in time.'  
'And once you were...' Booth swallowed uncomfortably, 'taken...we still didn't find you. You were relying on us- relying on me, and I let you down. It's something I will never be able to atone for.'  
Brennan turned her face to Booth's, seeing his eyes dulled with sadness at his perceived failure. To her horror, she saw a single tear overflow from his usually bright brown eyes. She longed to reach up, brush it away, but the mere thought of moving that much made her flinch. She settled, however, for grasping Booth's hand in her own. His large palm and fingers dwarfed her own, their tan highlighting her pale skin tone. She felt Booth turn his head, could almost feel his eyes upon their intertwined fingers.

'I can never forgive myself, Bones, for the things he has done to you.'  
' It wasn't your fault, Booth. If anything...it was my fault. I am supposed to be smarter than that. I fell into his trap, ran straight where he wanted me like some simple-minded sheep...' Brennan saw Booth open his mouth to protest, and she quickly cut him off.  
'No, Booth. I was unintelligent. You always taught me vigilance, something that I allowed to escape me that night. You always warned me about this, and I always brushed it off as a figment of your alpha-male, protective imagination. And, most importantly, you _always _told me, begged me, not to provoke my captor if this ever happened. I...' Brennan's sentence was cut off by a choking sob, and she quickly turned and buried her face in Booth's neck. A wave of stark realisation washed over Brennan, obscuring her logic and rationality: she was to blame entirely for what had happened.  
'Oh, Booth, this was all my fault...' her hoarse voice whispered into his collar.

Booth looked down at his gently crying partner, aghast and incredulous at what he was seeing. He raised a hand and placed a finger under Brennan's chin, slowly lifting it until her eyes reluctantly met his.  
'Bones, you are the last person at fault in this situation. You are a victim of an atrocious crime, and you did _nothing _to bring this upon yourself.' He traced a thumb along her jaw tenderly, 'no one but the man that did this to you is to blame.' Brennan dropped her eyes, breaking Booth's intense gaze. The words wound around her sluggish mind, and she somehow found herself to be believing them. While something in the back of her mind persisted in believing her guilt, once glance at Booth's earnest face ignited her immense trust for him. Her exhausted mind was content accepting his words, for now at least, and she relaxed against his chest once more.  
'M'kay Booth,' she mumbled, the heavy weight of the anaesthesia placating her normally sharp and active mind, 'I trust you...' her voice trailed off to a inarticulate whisper, as her eyes fluttered shut and sleep pulled her back into unconsciousness.

Booth smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear, content to see Brennan slipping back into sleep. He relaxed against the pillows, going over their conversation again in his mind. He still could not believe that Brennan held herself responsible in any way for what had happened and, although happy that she was compliant, was slightly concerned at how quickly she changed her mind away from self blame. Did she really trust him that much? Or was the medication making her drowsy and hence easily swayed?

Or maybe, a small voice in the back of his mind added, maybe you were right. Maybe Gregory is the only one whose fault this is; maybe you shouldn't hold yourself responsible. _No one but the man that did this to you is to blame. _He had said those very words, with so much conviction, enough to bend the strong and opinionated mind of Doctor Temperance Brennan. Maybe, if she believed them, so should he.

With mild surprise, he found his mind wanting to hold on to the blame. It was easier, somehow, if this was all his fault. He could blame himself, punish himself. Brennan could hold him responsible too, shun him, and use him as an outlet for her inevitable sorrow. It was probably the easiest way out for his partner; she wouldn't have to initially deal with her ordeal, and could simply continue blaming him until she was ready. And he would take it. He would happily take her detestation, if it helped, especially since he felt he deserved it. It was an all-round winning option, providing Brennan with an outlet for her emotions, and providing him with some small way to begin atoning for this whole ordeal.

There was only one flaw in his perfectly reasoned plan: Brennan didn't blame him in the slightest. It must have crossed her vastly intelligent mind, the idea of blaming Booth for the complete destruction of her emotional and physical wellbeing. But somehow, she seemed to trust him more. That superior intellect of hers had decided that his virtues had outweighed his mistakes. He looked down at Brennan's now sleeping face, hardly knowing what to think. He hated to think of letting go of his guilt, or his self-blame, without doing anything to deserve forgiveness. But it would be irrational for him to hold so much self loathing if Brennan did not feel the same. Especially since she had already told him that she did not find him at fault.

A tiny smile twitched his lips. They all knew how much Brennan hated irrationality. He felt his resilience waning, as the power of Brennan's precious logic washed over his increasingly exhausted mind. With a small groan his dropped his head back against the pillow. He was too tired for this. He felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him, teasing his eyelids down. Tightening his embrace around Brennan ever so slightly, Booth gave in to the needs of his body and allowed himself to slip from consciousness.

*

Booth's eyes blearily slid open, into the near-darkness of the hospital room. The sterilised scent hit his nostrils, reminding him exactly where he was, and why he was there. Brennan was still pressed against his chest, her fingers clinging loosely to a handful of his shirt. But Booth's eyes only lingered upon Brennan for a moment. Something was not right.

Something had stirred him from his sleep and, relatively deep sleeper as he was, this was not a regular occurrence. The last time this had happened... his heart stumbled over a couple of beats as he recalled. The last time this had happened, he had been in a warzone. The last time this had happened, an enemy faction was infiltrating his camp.

Forcing his mind to shed the shroud of sleepy disorientation, he slid himself further upright. There was sound coming from near the door. Glancing down at Brennan's sleeping face, and then once more at the door, Booth slowly began to slide out from beneath his partner. An inarticulate mumble bubbled from her lips, and he quickly lowered her back to the pillows. In his sock-clad feet he took one padded step towards the door. A figure was silhouetted by the stark white hall lights leaking in through the doorframe. There was something else, something rattling, that they were pulling in behind them. Both the person and the object were illuminated a moment later when the door was nudged further open: the cleaner, who had followed them down the hidden halls when they were being led to Brennan, was dragging his trolley into the room.

Booth ran a hand through his hair as his heart fluttered with relief when he recognised the uniform. Clearing his throat, he waited for the man to react to him. When he did not turn, Booth coughed again, waiting. His brow tweaking with annoyance, Booth raised his hand to the bedside light switch, flicking it on.  
'Excuse me, would you mind coming back at another time?'

The man froze in place, his back still to Booth. Something in Booth's gut tautened once more. _This isn't right..._He then heard the man begin to speak.  
'This was going to be so simple.' He stated. Something in his voice sounded familiar, but Booth couldn't place where from.  
'But then _you _had to go ruin everything. You weren't supposed to know about me, no one was supposed to know about me. Everything was going perfectly, until you showed up with that dim-witted artist at my door.'

Booth's hand slowly crept to his holstered gun. He didn't like where this conversation was going. The familiarity was growing, along with a creeping sense of dread. His sleep-ridden brain, however, could not connect the dots.  
'And _then,_' the man added, 'you came along and _killed Mr Clarke! _Mr Clarke, whose idea this all was, whose planning we were meticulously following...' the voice broke off with an agitated gasp, the man transferring his weight between his feet restlessly. He raised a grappling hand to his head, ripping it through his hair ruthlessly. Then the movement suddenly stopped. He became deadly still, like a tiger before it pounces upon its cornered prey. Booth felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and his hand wrapped around the handle of his gun in its holster, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

'But the plan must go ahead. The objective must be obtained,' the man's voice began to show a steely edge of crazed anger, 'I _must kill Temperance Brennan!'_

Suddenly the uniformed man whirled around, a shotgun in his hands, pointed at Brennan's slumbering form, directly at her heart.

Booth drew a split second later, throwing his body to the side as he pulled the gun from its holster with lightning speed. Two shots were fired, so close together that patients in the rooms nearby would swear that only one bullet had been shot. The men's eyes met in the infinitesimal fraction of a moment after the shots were fired. Booth finally knew his assailant's identity, as he flung himself in the line of the shot. Freedman's face had been filled with triumph, but in that fractional moment he saw the gun in Booth's hand, saw him moving to intercept his perfect and deadly shot, and blatant horror melted his confident expression as he realised what it meant.

Booth's bullet hit where it was aimed with lethal accuracy. Freedman crumpled to the ground, his lifeless form slumping down the pasty white walls. His face was frozen in complete distraught horror; a picture of his final thoughts, of having failed his mission, etched upon his face forevermore.

Booth set his face, his jaw, steeling himself as he hurled himself across to protect Brennan. No thought of his own mortality crossed his mind, not once did he consider the implications of his actions. The one thing filling his mind was his Bones. His eyes locked on her sleeping face as he fell, seemingly in slow motion, into the path of the bullet. _She's safe. _His heart flooded with relief, temporarily blocking from his mind the fate that he had assigned himself.

He gave a strangled cry, when the metal bullet ripped into his chest, tearing his flesh as it buried itself deep inside his body. His hand clawed at the wound, blood rapidly oozing between his clutching fingers and splattering to the ground and across Brennan's pristine white sheets. He gasped for breath, the excruciating pain shocking the oxygen out of his lungs. His legs trembled beneath him, giving way as he tumbled forward across Brennan's lap. His vision was blurring, darkening at the edges. He reached a violently shaking hand out, grasping Brennan's fingers in his own. A wave of heart-wrenching pain shattered over him, and with a moan he squeezed Brennan's hand tighter.

Through his rapidly decaying vision he fought to keep Brennan's face in focus. He felt his heart was breaking; there was so much left unsaid between them. He had never told her how enchanting he found her laugh, how astounding he found the vastness of her knowledge. He had never said how prettily the light highlighted the copper in her hair, how refreshingly beautiful her creamy skin was to him, or how her eyes sparkled like sapphires with such fervour as to ensnare his heart. But, there was one thing, which outstripped her physical attractiveness or simple attractive traits. Her beautiful, incredible soul, so rich and strong and exquisitely warm, had captured him wholeheartedly. What had started as misunderstanding had grown, developing through friendship, to best friends, to deepest caring, to love. His throat choked as he realised it; he had been in love with Brennan, for so long, and had never done anything about it. And now it was too late.

With excruciating effort, he tilted his face to look up at hers, longing to see her eyes one last time. To his surprise, he saw them flutter open, brimming with horror at the sight before her. He fought his weakening muscles to grip her hand once more, and forced his lips to obey his will.

'I...' he rasped, as his vision blackened even further, '_love_...you'  
He heard her gasp, felt her grasping his hand in return. She was shaking her head, her lips forming words he could no longer comprehend. He felt himself slipping, losing his hold on this world.  
'I...love...' his breath ran out, leaving his lungs empty. With one final, exceptionally clear vision of Brennan's beautiful face stamped upon his mind, his vision finally gave out. His body slumped down, losing its battle, finally unfeeling, and he knew no more.

**I hope you all enjoy cliff hangers, because they just seem to keep overtaking the ends of my chapters :\**

**So yeah...remember your aforementioned David Boreanaz clones, promised if you review :)**

**oh, and a shout out to all those from the fox forum, who helped a lost reader find their way back to the story ;)**

**Thanks for the read :D**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi all**

**Just something to note in this chapter- the italics is Brennan's thoughts/flashback**

**As always, nothing but the plot is mine**

_Sleep. Blissful, deep, heavy sleep. Black dreamlessness, undisturbed, no longer filled with the worrying thoughts of consciousness. I could not even remember my cause of concern. All I knew was the eternal numbness I was submerged in. Below me, the world seemed to rise and fall, with a mesmerising and comforting pattern. Warmth radiated, and something comforting held me securely around the middle. I had forgotten what it was. I did not care. All that mattered that it was warm and safe, so different from the past. The pain was gone. I did not know where, but that didn't matter. I was floating on clouds of serenity, and I was content to rest in their comforting embrace._

_I rested for a long time, much longer than my lethargic brain could comprehend. All I felt was the repetitive rising and falling from below, lulling me, endless as my own breathing. Then something altered. The pattern changed, became less steady and more purposeful. I felt a shift below me, something sliding, lifting me up. I tried to stop it, but my body was limp, and the words that tumbled from my mouth were groggy, rendered inarticulate and inaudible by the drugs coursing through my veins. I was lowered down, down, against a lifeless, rough surface so different from the warm comfort that had held me moments ago. _

_I felt the ethereal aura of tranquillity begin to fade; the blackness behind my eyes did not seem quite so dark. My senses were slowly returning, ever so slowly. I heard a voice, it was so familiar, but its identity was lost amid the swirling sea that was my usually ordered mind. I wanted to frown with the frustration, but my body would not obey. My frustration grew. All I wanted was to shake this off, to be able to listen, to comprehend._

_Someone was talking once more. But this time, the voice was not familiar. It was a strange voice, I noted, filled with some emotion that I could not comprehend. Was it anger? Determination? Whatever it was, it sounded ominous. I felt an emotion well up inside me. Fear? Why was I afraid? I felt so confused. Nothing made sense. Thoughts were whirling, faster and faster, flashes of memories blinding me from thinking straight. The voice -the strange, unfamiliar one- was still talking, gaining speed and intensity. The words were still jumbled, but somehow they anchored me. I clung to the sounds, trying desperately to pull myself from the helpless drowning inside my head. A word suddenly cut through the fog inside my brain._

_'Kill...' I lost the rest of the phrase, but this one word was enough, after everything I had been through recently. Adrenalin pumped through my body with almost perceptible potency, sparking my mind into action. Sounds were coming into focus, and I could feel once more. Feel the pressure of the bandages hugging my body, feel the heaviness of my exhausted head and, worst of all, could feel every individual slice into my skin, burning with agonising pain. My eyes rolled behind their lids, the incredible pain so suddenly thrust upon me that I could not cope. I felt myself spiralling back towards unconsciousness, but desperately I tried to cling to my awareness._

_Several agonising moments later, I regained control, and taking a shuddering breath was able to pull myself back from the brink of unconsciousness. I inhaled, the cool air soothing my arid throat. Still fuelled by the adrenalin, I felt my body start to come around. Suddenly sounds were growing explicitly clear, although somehow my eyelids lay still and heavy and undeniably closed despite my longing to know what was going on. _

_Then two of the loudest sounds I had ever heard crashed through my eardrums, two bangs that I immediately recognised. Gun shots. Blind panic, pure blind panic was all I felt. I heard something crash, followed by a sickly squelch and an ominous thud. I flinched away, but before my brain could process that information any further, I heard an agonised cry of pain, accompanied by ragged breaths. Some unknown material rustled, and I felt something splattering wetly across my thin sheets. Then a heavy pressure suddenly dropped upon my lap. Fear, confusion. What was it? Who was it? It was then that my mind surged with memories, which flashed behind my eyes with lightening speed. The gentle rising and falling below me had been Booth, whose chest I had fallen asleep against. The lifting, the lowering to the rough surface, must have been him moving away and laying me upon the scratchy hospital bedspread. I suddenly felt so vulnerable, and a creeping sense of dread trickled down my spine. The silence was eerie. Where was Booth? Why had he left me? Was he okay? Was I safe without him?_

_A hand suddenly grasped mine, and I heard a moan from the form crushing against my thighs. _

_I had to see. I could not stand the blindness any longer. I focused all my energies on my eyelids, pulling against the indescribable weight they seemed to hold. Slowly, ever so slowly, a sliver of light appeared at the rim. It grew, gradually fading from blinding white, and taking form as objects. And suddenly my eyes were in focus. I stared, and felt any resilience of mine shatter at the sight before me. _

_His face was so pale, so deathly pale. The blood chugged out between his fingers at an alarming rate; even semi-conscious as I was I could tell that it was in fatal quantities. His head tilted, ever so slowly, and my throat choked as I saw the determined, pain-stricken expression he wore. His eyes met mine. There was an eternity in that one gaze. The intensity in his eyes was almost unbearable. He was trying so hard, forcing his failing body to obey; there was pain, so much pain, unlike anything I had seen before; and then there was something else, something I could almost define, that was just on the tip of my consciousness..._

_His gaze intensified even further, his eyes trying to express what he no longer could physically. I saw him swallow, his lips begin to move, and I leant in to hear his deathly quiet words._

_'I...love...you...' I gasped. My mind went into overdrive. My heart stuttered as my brain came to a horrifying conclusion; Booth would not confess this on a whim, he would only say those words with such conviction if he thought he would never have the chance again. I choked back a sob as I clutched his hand in mine tighter, and I felt my head shake automatically from side to side.  
'No, Booth, please!' My voice was soft, so soft. I struggled against the weakness pressing down on me, forcing through the physical barrier and raising my voice.  
'No, Booth, you can't leave me, you can't leave me!'_

_His eyes were dulling; I could see him slipping away before my eyes.  
'I...love...' I locked eyes with him, silently begging him to finish the phrase. But his body slumped forward, his head dropping to the starchy sheets below.  
'Booth?' I breathed, my heart plunging. His hand relaxed in mine, no longer searching for relief by encompassing my smaller palm in his overwhelming grip.  
'Booth?' I heard the panic rising in my voice when he did not respond, and my hands clumsily clambered up his wrist to find a pulse. My fingers were frantic, pressing different spots, desperately searching. My fingers brushed his tattoo, my eyes automatically reading the Japanese kanji symbol. Destiny. No, I thought desperately, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. No, this wasn't going to happen, I couldn't let this happen. I forced my trembling fingers to be still, pressing against the vein in his wrist. I waited. And waited. My lip began to tremble, but I held still. And then, one solitary, tiny, irrelevant pulse thudded beneath my finger. _

_The greatest relief that I had ever known flooded my being, sending my body into shivers. But my eyes quickly fell upon the blood pooling upon my linen, and I flew into action. I sat up abruptly, without a single thought crossing my mind but getting help. _

_I felt a sickening tear rip up my back, and with a screech I fell back. My breath came in shuddering gasps, tremors of pain shaking up and down my mutilated flesh with every miniscule movement. Curses slipped through my clenched teeth as I tried to pull myself back under control, but as my eyes fell back upon Booth, and I determinedly pushed my distress aside. Booth needed help, now, and I was the only one who could get it to him. From the pillows, I saw the emergency aid buzzer, resting upon the bedside table. I lifted my arm, ignoring the spasms and tingles, but my fingers fell a long way short. _

_With much more care and restraint than before, I levered myself upright. My back sizzled as though on fire, and a glance over my shoulder showed a splotchy, bloody silhouette stamped against my pillows. I reached once more, leaning, stretching, ignoring the burn, but still I could not reach. I tried to slide to the edge of my bed, but the dead weight of Booth's body pinned me to the mattress. _

_My stomach flopped when I realised what I would have to do to reach the buzzer. I couldn't move Booth, he was both much too heavy for my frail arms and, most importantly, moving him at this point could be fatal. This left only one option: moving myself. Taking deep breaths through my mouth, I tried to steady my hammering heart. A more ignorant person may not have felt the same intensity of panic as I did then, but a more ignorant person would not be aware of the physical ramifications of their actions. I knew that by aggravating the lacerations I could instigate at least Class II Haemorrhaging, and in combination with the already dangerous amounts of bleeding that I had undoubtedly experienced prior to my admission to hospital, the additional loss of blood could cause severe hypotension, circulatory shock or potentially hypovolemia and the accompanying hypoperfusion. For the first time in memory, I wished for the bliss of ignorance._

_Eyeing the distance rapidly between my position and the small buzzer, I gripped my hands to the side of the bed, preparing to throw myself at the bedside table, hoping that the momentum would be enough to free my legs from beneath Booth's body. Listening to the omnipresent bleeping of the heart monitor, I tensed my muscles, counting down in time with the mechanical ticking. Three, two, one..._

'I'm sorry sir, but I am going to have to ask you and your wife to leave.' The nurse had a stern face and an even stricter tone in her voice; neither Hodgins nor Angela felt they quite had the nerve to correct her assumption about their relationship.  
'But it's really not that late...'  
'It's two in the morning, sir.' The woman said bluntly, drumming her manicured nails across the shiny acrylic desktop she was perched condescendingly behind.  
'But...'  
'I'm afraid I have to insist...' The nurse cut of abruptly, her eyes dropping from their faces to a flashing light on the tabletop before her.  
'One moment, sir.' She said as she picked up a phone from beside her and hit a few keys, holding the receiver to her thin lips.  
'Doctor Williams to Ms Brennan, paging Doctor Williams to Ms Brennan.' She said in a bored tone, before putting the receiver back down.

'Ms Brennan? As in Temperance Brennan?' The nurse raised a suspicious eyebrow.  
'Yes, why?'  
'She's the woman we're here for. Look,' Hodgins ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looking down at the nurse earnestly, 'she wasn't awake when we visited before. She obviously is now so please, let us go and talk to her. Five minutes, that's all we ask, and then we'll leave, we promise.'  
The nurse looked slowly from Hodgins to Angela, and then eventually back to Hodgins.  
'You have five minutes. If I see you again tonight after that I am calling security. Doctor Williams,' the nurse called, flagging down a man in a white coat who was just striding past, 'please show these two to Ms Brennan's room.'

The man gave a curt nod, and gestured for the pair to follow. They fell in step beside him, heading back down the white corridor leading towards Brennan's room.  
'So you're here for Ms Brennan, are you?' The doctor asked, his voice tired but sounding genuinely interested.  
'Yes, she's been through a lot lately.'  
'I heard a snippet on the news this afternoon, about the kidnapping? It's a miracle they found her at all, from the sounds of it.'  
'Well, it's thanks to her partner that we did at all. He refused to give up on her.'  
'He'd do anything to keep her safe.' Angela murmured, a tiny smile warming her face.

Brennan's door was just ahead on the right, but Hodgins noticed that something was not right. The door, he swore they had not left it that far open. He raised his hand to Angela's shoulder, pulling her to a halt.  
'Did we leave that door open like that?' A tiny frown twitched Angela's brow down, but her face quickly cleared.  
'Look, there's a janitor's trolley just inside,' she gestured as she pushed the door further open, looking back at Hodgins, 'I'm sure he's just cleaning away...'

And then her eyes turned forward. Leaning against the wall was a slumped, pale corpse, its face an empty picture of horror and pain. Blood splatter stained the walls, the floor, accumulating in horrifying puddles of gore around the body.  
'Oh my God...' She took a slow step forward, hardly believing what she was seeing. More of the room was revealed and she could see a suited body leaning heavily against the bed.

She stepped inside, and the full horrific scene was revealed to her. Booth lay deathly still atop blood-reddened sheets, his face pallor and his body worryingly motionless. His white shirt was crumpled and, from beneath one arm, she could see the source of the copious amounts of blood was a gaping injury in his chest.

Brennan was no longer in her bed, she was instead collapsed in a crumbled heap upon the polished floor beside it, her head bowed. The bedside table above her was swept clear of the assorted objects that had littered its surface before, and they now lay in various states of disrepair on the floor, scattered around Brennan's slouching body. Tightly grasped in the fingers of one hand was the emergency pager, which she clutched close to her side. Her other hand reached up, tightly grasping Booth's fingers in her own. Her body heaved with heavy breaths, her chest slumped forward, revealing the back of her hospital gown and the stripes of seeping blood soaking through her bandages.  
'Oh my God!' Angela's voice rose into a shrill scream, as she skittered across the blood-slickened floor and dropped to her best friend's side.  
'Bren, Bren are you alright?' She got a low moan in response, and a feeble gesture towards the bed.  
'Booth...' She took another sharp breath, hissing and clenching her teeth, 'go to him.' Her voice was thin, but her eyes held determination that she could not physically portray. Angela bit her lip, but her friend's eyes held such intensity that she quickly rose to her feet once more. Hodgins and Doctor Williams were already beside Booth, Hodgins holding his wrist in search of a pulse while the doctor called for emergency help through his pager.

Moments later the room was flooded with medical staff, their shouting voices and bustling bodies adding a new dimension of panic to the room that had not been there before. Nurses lifted Booth onto the bed, and someone roughly pulled his hand away from Brennan's tenaciously clinging fingers. She gave a whimper, her eyes wide as she watched a maelstrom of doctors swirling around him. Someone leant over him, plunging their gloved hands into the wound to stem the blood flow, while another was forcing oxygen down his throat with a handheld pump. Someone punched a syringe filled with clear liquid into his chest and another nurse was frantically circling the bed, disconnecting it from the wall and releasing the locks on the wheeled feet. Within moments they were whisking him out the door and away to the emergency room.

Two nurses stayed behind, kindly trying to guide Brennan towards a chair until new accommodation could be found for her.  
'No!' She cried with more strength than anyone believed that she had, 'go to him!' The two women exchanged wary glances, before hurrying off down the hall, following the whirlwind of emergency doctors to the operating theatre. The room was silent. Angela stood frozen with her hand lingering over her lips, against the wall where she had been pushed by the doctors to keep her out of the way. Hodgins was beside the janitor's trolley that was just inside the door, his hands trembling slightly from the adrenalin. He was staring down, his blue eyes wide, at the slumped corpse that had been left unattended against the wall. Nothing moved. Even the heart monitor had stopped its beeping; the cords dangled across the floor, their tails no longer attached to Brennan's body.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Angela stepped across the hollow room. Her heels clicked loudly across the linoleum floor. Reaching Brennan, she gently but firmly helped her over to the chair the nurses had wanted her in. Brennan followed blindly, sat limply, stared with glassy eyes at things she obviously was not seeing. Her entire world seemed to be crashing down around her, and because of that she had retraced so far into herself that she seemed vacant and empty.  
'Bren, what happened?' Angela asked in a heavy whisper, kneeling down before her friend, and grimly seeing her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

'He said...he said he would protect me. He promised, as soon as he had me safe...' Her eyes dropped to the floor where they gazed, horrified, at the gore she normally absorbed with analytical impartiality. Her faced paled, and she threw herself against the armrest as her body heaved in dry retches. Her empty stomach relinquished nothing, but the mere thought of that being blood that Booth had sacrificed for her somehow sickened her more than any of the gory corpses that she worked with on a daily basis, causing her stomach to keep heaving. The lurching of her stomach eventually receded to a hacking cough. As her body slowly started to come back under control, however, she felt her emotional resolve begin to waver. The breaths she gulped down pressed painfully against the lump forming in her throat.

'What have I made him do? What have I done?' Her voice sounded bewildered and hollow, almost pathetically weak in the way that it cracked with the strain. It was a pitiful sound that shook Angela to her very core. How had this happened? Brennan- the epitome of strength, the stoic master of compartmentalisation- had been broken. Not by her agonising torment while being held captive, but by one single sacrifice made for her safety by one single, selfless man. Angela's eyes rose to Brennan's, and they both saw their sorrow and fear reflected in their friend's eyes. Moments later they were in each other's arms, embracing with almost suffocating intensity, desperately trying to find the tiniest sliver of solace from the nightmare they were living.

But, even as they clutched each other, a feeling of hopelessness pressed down like an overpoweringly heavy weight. The hard part was supposed to be over. No one else was supposed to get hurt. Brennan shuddered as a horrid trill of vulnerability scuttled up her spine. How many more were there out there? Who else was after her? She clutched Angela closer, but almost immediately loosened her grip. What if she was next? The next friend who felt compelled, if not obliged to step into the firing line, lured by a sense of duty or love? She disentangled herself from Angela's embrace, choosing instead to hug her legs to her chest, burying her face in the small crevasse between her skinny knees. She squeezed her eyes shut as damp tears threatened to overflow.

Taking a deep breath, she contemplated the shreds of her tattered life with a hollow feeling of growing horror. Her body mangled, her sense of self shattered, her confidence stripped away until all that was left was a husk of who she was before. And then there was the complication of Booth; he promised to keep her safe, a promise that he fulfilled, and now his life hung in the balance instead of hers. His final words haunted her, tormenting her, and vulnerable as she already was she felt on the brink of some terrible meltdown. The only thing she knew for certain was that the outcome of Booth's surgery would play a huge part in how she pulled through this. If he survived, and she daren't hope for more, she knew that she may have some semblance of a chance at a proper recovery. If not, she could almost already feel herself letting go, and tumbling into the black abyss of depression.

But, angst-ridden and inexpressibly terrified as she was, the tenaciously logical part of her brain told her that there was nothing she could do until there was news of the outcome of Booth's surgery. She shivered, and the tiny movement caused spasms of white-hot pain to prick across her back. She gritted her teeth, however, forcing herself not to react visibly. She may have been the victim of this whole saga originally, but now Booth was the one thrust into the spotlight, his fate the plot of some sadistic storyline playing out on life's stage. Now she would have to observe, a mere spectator with no influence over the events playing out before her. All she could hope is that there would be a happy ending.

**And there we are.**

**Now I believe at the time of publication I am at 236 reviews *awesome***

**But I'd like to make it to the massive milestone of 250**

**Last time i put the challenge of reaching a review number out there, the response was overwhelming, so hopefully we can do that again**

**But I wont hold the chapter hostage if you dont. I shall just be sad. So, in my depression i may kill off Booth. And Brennan. And Angela. And send Hodgins and Sweets to live on a remote island off New Zealand, never top be seen by humanity again. Your choice, really...  
just kidding :P**

**Thanks so much for the read! **


	16. Chapter 16

**Again, apologies for the massive gap between updates  
Here I was, under the impression that all Year 11 students were just lazy when they complained about their workloads...I have since learned the errors of my ways and am currently on the path to atonement by the way of epic amounts of homework -.-**

**As always, _italics _equals dream, in this case, the marvelously dark mind of one Seeley Booth.  
Enjoy! **

'Come on, Bren, this is getting ridiculous.'  
'No.' Her voice was hollow and thin, yet somehow stubborn and unyielding.  
'He would want you to take it.' Angela implored, her earnest eyes widened with conviction.  
'He wouldn't take it if he were in my position.'  
'But that's not the point! He wouldn't want you to hurt yourself just for him.'  
'I don't care. I will not take any anaesthetic until he's awake and can tell me to take it himself.'

Angela turned away with a frustrated sigh, turning away and walking back to Hodgins, who was standing by the wall. He draped a comforting arm around her shoulders, and she allowed her head to lie weightily against his shoulder. She gazed down at her best friend on the hospital bed, filled with frustration and hopelessness at her resound lack of logic. Ever since Booth had come out of surgery she had refused any kind of anaesthetic or painkiller, and only permitted antibiotics after a long debate with her doctor. Every time Angela had come in since, she had begged her to reconsider, but to no avail. It was inconceivable that Brennan- the prodigiously logical doctor of anthropology- was doing something so bewilderingly out of character.

Brennan sat resolutely upon the bed, her face still set in immovable conviction. If it weren't for her eyes, Angela probably would not have even believed she was in pain. But one glance at them proved again and again the stupidity of her refusal; Angela could see her battling every moment they were together, trying to keep her obvious agony out of sight from the external world. The tiny signs were there, however; the tightness around her purple-rimmed eyes, the tiniest of frowns permanently puckering her brow, the way her hands occasionally curled into fists when a particularly potent throb of pain must have washed over her.

Angela knew her friend backwards and, while her efforts may have convinced a lesser acquaintance, her masquerade of contentment was one which was quite transparent to someone as close as she was. She knew that it was probably a futile effort, but Angela set her mind to once again track down a doctor, any doctor, that could try to convince her friend to change her tenacious mind.

Seeing that her friend had that look in her eyes- the same one she wore last time before she called the doctor in to talk to her again- Brennan quickly settled herself down against the pillows, allowing a hardly-necessary yawn to tug her dry lips apart.  
'I'd like to try and get some sleep, Angela.' She saw her friend's frustration melt into empathy once more, making her feel even guiltier for lying so that her friends would leave.  
'Oh, of course, sweetie. We'll go down to the café, if you need us. But I'll come back up to say goodbye before we leave.' She murmured, as she bustled around her friend's bed, turning off lamps and televisions and making sure the pager and Brennan's phone were within easy reach. Just before she left, Angela grasped Brennan's fingers in her hand for a moment, seeming to want to say something, but with a sad look in her eyes instead she turned away and exited the room. Hodgins hovered a moment longer, his eyes resting upon Brennan's face with an unreadable expression.  
'It hurts her to see you like this. A lot. I hope you realise just how much.' He sounded almost apologetic, as though he was kicking the proverbial man while he was down. But in his bright eyes there was a shimmer of fierce, defensive determination to protect Angela from further harm, overriding his sense of breaking social decorum. He held Brennan's eyes a moment longer, before following his partner out into the hall, swinging the door shut behind himself.

The silence resounded around the room, only broken by the muted beeping of Booth's heart monitor, syncopated with her own. Her eyes pinched closed as she finally allowed the mask of stoicism to break, now that she was alone. She hardly even knew why she was putting herself or her friends through this; not taking the painkillers was irrational, something that she could easily recognise. But the idea of Booth – at the thought of the man she looked across to his prone form on the bed beside her – waking, and not finding her rushing to his side, but instead coasting on the bliss of drug-enhanced delirium, escaping from the pain which he still had to endure…

So she had stayed drug-free. She had taken, after an extended and intensive conversation with her pathologist, a bare minimum of antibiotic medication. But she refused anything beyond the minimal amounts to keep her wounds from infection. While it caused her friends much distress, and made her own existence much more difficult, the lucidity it afforded was strangely comforting. She felt real, solid, rather than the strange and confusing ethereal state that the morphine caused, and that was of some little comfort to her.

As her gaze flicked across the room, her eyes fell upon a recent newspaper lying on the cabinet beside her bed. She slowly reached out for it, as to not jar her injuries, and flicked on her bedside lamp as she lifted it to her lap. She shuffled the pages until the front cover lay open before her.  
_'Tempting Fate' _the title blared, standing out among a collection of photos. The first was of her bloodied and agonised face, as she was lead with stumbling feet out of the warehouse. She could hardly even recognise herself; she was unnaturally thin, and that confident poise she usually tried to maintain while she walked was nowhere to be seen. In the next frame was a picture of a grim-looking Booth, striding out of the front door of the Hoover building, his body healthy and uninjured as he continued the hunt for her kidnapper. She traced her finger along the contour of the picture's face; she could not believe now how she had ever doubted his loyalty to her, that she had even considered the possibility of him not coming to her rescue.

Her eyes slowly travelled over to the bottom corner of the page, where a spine-tinglingly familiar face glared up at her. Gregory's mugshot showed his face in its passively-angry glory, his eyes burning with humiliation and lust for revenge. Perhaps she was reading too much into the image, and her mind had become paranoid from her experience, but she could swear that she could see that same terrifying glint of insanity dancing across his features, even all those years ago. Unable to bear his terrifying eyes staring up at her any longer, she roughly tore the picture away and tossed it to the bin beside her bed. But, with dissatisfaction, she realised the hole still reminded her of his face due to its absence. In an attempt to rid her mind of the antagonist of her nightmares, Brennan turned her eyes to re-read the short precursor article that sat neatly in the opposite corner.

_Reading like one of her very own novels, the story of Ms Temperance Brennan's kidnap has been a wild and unbelievable tale… _The article began, giving a short snippet before referring the reader to a _two-page spread, detailing the incredible journey that the FBI took to rescue Washington D.C.'s most beloved crime novelist. _Brennan dropped the paper back onto her table without bothering to read any further. The story was fraught with half-truths and cover stories that the FBI had supplemented the media with, and while it protected her and her friends for unwanted personal attention, it was frustrating to read. Booth, for example, had only been mentioned once, as the person who had discovered that Brennan was missing. Cullen, on the other hand, had an entire paragraph dedicated to his press interview, which told of their 'relentless efforts and resources expended by myself and my team, to make sure that our Ms Brennan was brought home safe.' And according to the article, she had been. The gory details of her capture had been verbally airbrushed, leading the readers to believe she may have been, at most, punched up a little while held in the warehouse. And, as a final insult, nothing had been mentioned of Booth's heroism or selflessness as he had thrown himself into the path of the bullet intended for Brennan, the one that was the reason why he was lying – prone and unresponsive – in the hospital bed beside her.

She rearranged herself against the synthetic pillows, the material crunching in her ear as she tossed her head in weak aggravation. There was just never any relief; the pain never dulled, and ever since the shooting it had developed to something even stronger. No longer was it just her body that was stricken with agony, but her heart was also torn asunder. Booth was yet to awaken, or do anything more than lie comatose on the bed beside her. She had spent hours, when she should have been sleeping, morosely gazing across to his bed. Being only one stride apart, they lay within arm's reach of one another, but Brennan's feeling of isolation was somehow heightened. She felt as though she were on an island, alienated by a Booth that could not talk to her. She watched him with sombre eyes, trying to suppress the aching that seemed to be so wholly consuming her. She slowly reached an arm up, her malnourished fingers like twigs as they swept through the air, almost as though they were reaching out across the gap, trying to break her isolation and bring him back to her.

Just as her hand was about to brush against his motionless fingers, an acute pain stabbed sharply in her stomach. A choked cry escaped her lips before she realised, her hands flying to her abdomen at the sudden internal barrage. Her eyes grew wide in fear, at this new and completely unexpected attack on her body. A sizzling hiss escaped her lips as the pain somehow intensified, raising with it her levels of panic. She arched her neck, and another uncontrolled but strangled cry broke through her quavering lips. She curled around her burning stomach, her eyes squeezing shut against the bewildering pain.

_I was in an alley. A long, dark alley, walking slowly towards some destination I could not name. All I knew is that it was important. The path was winding, and I was alone. Ahead, a streetlamp cast a dim aura of light, a halo of buttery yellow luminescence. Surrounded by this halo was a slim figure, her blonde hair shimmering like moonlight. Her head was bowed, and she was garbed in a simple white dress. I paused, fascinated by this vision in white, and saddened that her angelic face was soured by sadness. I wanted to help. I took a step closer. Her head snapped up and she gasped soundlessly, her blue eyes widening at something in the darkness before her, something I could not see. _

_Those eyes were so familiar. Crisp sapphires, sharp, aware. And now, filled with fear. I took another step closer. A gloved hand extended slowly from the swampy shadows, into the bubble of light from the streetlamp. The angelic girl stepped back, shaking her head. Her lips moved, but I could not hear the words. The hand moved further into the light, an arm wrapped in a crisp suit began to protrude into the light also. The girl stepped back again. The pair continued to move back, a pace apart, until the girl was the one obscured in shadow, and the owner of the arm was the one surrounded by the light. The man was clothed in black, with dark glasses obscuring his eyes. A fedora dipped low across his brow, and he held all the confidence, charm and menace of the 20s gangster he resembled. The pale of her skin and the pure whiteness of her dress kept the girl within sight, however, unlike the man had been when he was skulking in the murky shadows. _

_Her white face was potently visible, filled with innocent fear as she stood frozen against the rough brick wall behind her. The man spotlighted by the streetlamp slowly lifted his fedora from his head, and in one swift movement threw it away from him. It spiralled, twirling through the air with unnatural speed, before colliding with my left shoulder. Excruciating pain stabbed through where it connected. I staggered, dropping to my knees. Eyes blearing with agony, I continued to watch the haunting scene before me. The man shrugged out of his tailored coat, which fell into a silken pile around his ankles. The man clinically tugged first his left cuff, then his right, before raising his eyes to the girl before him. His predatory gaze seemed to melt the girl, as she slid down the wall to the floor. Her hands shook and her lips still moved in silent begging. The man's lips curled into a sickening smile. _

_He took one step. In the first sound of the dream, a whimper escaped from the girl- a heartbreaking cry of fear. She cowered against the harsh, cold cement ground, looking so small and helpless. The man took another, slow step closer. As his heel pressed against the pavement, another terrorised scream rang through the silence of the story being played out before him. A third step was taken, and now the man was within arm's reach of the girl. She was curled at his feet, trembling as she realised her fate was inevitable. Her hands flew together before her chest, her fingers clamping tightly as she bowed her head in prayer. The man threw back his head in mirth, and anger boiled inside me as he mocked her so blatantly. I longed to rise to my feet, to come to the girl's assistance. But that one spot where the man's hat had hit was burning as though alight, debilitating me. All I could do was watch, as I saw the man reach closer. When his hand roughly grabbed her pure, white wrist I could not hold back any longer._

'_No!'_

Brennan froze. Her harsh breathing ragged in the silence, and her eyes- darkened by pain- staring in apprehensive shock at the man in the bed beside her. She hardly dared to believe what she heard; had Booth really called something out? She watched with an avid gaze as his eyes flicked and fluttered beneath their lids, and in amazement saw them begin to lift open. She felt her heart stumble as she saw his eyes finally – after days of solitude – looking back at her.

But before she could do anything but fill with astonished joy, the burning in her stomach returned with renewed vigour, and she recoiled, throwing her head back against the pillows in agony. She bit her lip, but she could not contain another pathetic whimper from breaking the silence of their room. Her hand scrabbled for the emergency button, but in her clumsy pain she brushed it off the table, sending it clattering to the floor. She groaned in frustration, a feeling which heightened as her current state of incapacitation helped her to realise that she could not easily recover the item from the linoleum below. With resignation she decided to ride the spasms out, and then attempt to reach for the aid buzzer. But as another shuddering wave of pain gripped her stomach, she didn't know how much longer she could last.

**So yes, dear reader, this is where I leave you  
It seems Bren is rather in the wars at the moment, but could you realistically expect her to escape that filthy warehouse with just those lacerations? No illnesses at all? As pointed out in a rather thought-provoking review, it would be rather unlikely.**

**But this seemingly endless list of injuries and ailments is coming to a dwindling close, I assure you. Does that mean the story is near its conclusion? Perhaps. I am rather reluctant to let go of my baby, however, so it may continue.  
Thoughts? Ideas where to take this? Do you WANT this taken elsewhere? I am thinking currently a little but of mental scarring here, a few tear-strewn hug sessions there, you know, the usual Booth/Brennan angst-leads-to-love situation with a bit of a twist :P  
But let me know, I dont want to ruin this for anyone. Plus, you may have some idea I have not even contemplated which may be perfect, so don't be afraid to speak up!**

**Thankyou, and until next time... try not to read TOO much fanfiction. As Albus Dumbledore once said, 'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live' **


	17. Chapter 17

**Can I get a high five for a two year hiatus! No, because I suck. Well, Year 12 was a bucket of gross time consuming, brain draining disgustingness, which wrote off (ba dum chick! bad accidental pun) all of 2011, and that in combination with a chapter that didn't want to exist pretty much resulted in no updates. It was one of those annoying things where you wrote the first half when you were on a roll, then whenever you came back to try and finish it you saw how good you WERE, then you felt intimidated by yourself, everything new sounded terrible etc. It was a weird place to be :P But yeah, this has been a long time coming, so sit back, relax and enjoy the emotional turmoil (as enjoyable as such situations can be)  
****As always, nothing but the plot is mine. **

Urgency. He couldn't place it; where it was coming from, why it was there, but it was wholly consuming and strangling in its desperation. His heart thudded potently, his muscles trembled in anticipation. Something was pulling him, drawing him, leading him out of the foggy state of unconsciousness. His senses were escaping from their lethargy, however emerging sodden with debilitating slowness. It was akin to watching a sluggish, old film projector; his senses were picking out single frames, flashes of sensory information that were ever so slowly building up into a decipherable picture.

A rasping, dry breath was rattling to his left. The sharp aroma of sterile cleaning products accosted his nose. Starched material rubbed against all exposed skin. His mouth was dry and a lingering metallic taste weighed down his tongue. Strangest of all, an odd sensation of nothingness across his upper torso, from the centre of which streamed an omnipotent burning, jagged shards jutting out from an implacable centre.

But this confusing volley of sensation was disregarded when a quiet moan oozed across the room, like a black fog that encapsulated all the worst aspects of pain. Booth would recognise that voice anywhere, and it acted as a solid rock amid his vaporous awareness. The alley that had consumed his mind moments before was wavering like a sinister mirage, accompanied with a sensation of personal solidification, as though coming back to reality. Bones' voice drew him away from the realms of his war-darkened mind, but those eyes of the angel had him tenaciously gripping to the flickering remnants of his crumbling dystopia of a dreamscape. His throat was raw with his rough calling, his yell of desperation to save this one member of his fast dissolving scene before him. In a blink she was gone. He blinked again, and suddenly the dark alley was no more, but was replaced instead by a blurred white space. One final flutter of his eyelids brought the room into focus, and with it the joy-filled face of Temperance Brennan.

The effect of seeing her face was immediate; peace and calm seemed to quash the panicked feel that had been bubbling unpleasantly away in his gut. She looked so happy, her eyes bright- unlike the eyes of the angel of his dreams, who had been darkened by fear. The last time he had seen this woman's face it had been pale and sickly, with eyes heavily haunted by her ordeal. While she was still gaunt and lacking in her normal inquisitive air, there was now colour in her cheeks, but more importantly, the smile gracing her lips was so purely happy he could almost forget that anything had gone wrong.

His face felt so heavy, but he made himself give the smallest of smiles in return; he was rewarded with a tiny laugh of wonder and happiness. The moment was then shattered, when Brennan's pleasant countenance was slaughtered by a gruesome grimace as her hands flew to her stomach, fingers curled in suppressed pain.  
'Bones?' Booth forced the word from between his lips, but his throat was so dry the name was barely audible. He watched, fighting desperately to awaken his deadened body, as she tossed her head back against the thin pillow behind her. She cracked open an eye, and flung her arm out towards the small table beside her bed. Her hand fumbled for the pager to call a nurse to her aid, but in her haste she sent it clattering to the floor.

Confusion-riddled and lethargic, an all-encompassing wave of panic dove cruelly upon Booth's vulnerable and weakened heart. Adrenalin began to perk his senses, but his understanding of the situation remained woefully limited. Were they under attack again? Brennan was not well, not safe as he had sworn to keep her, and no matter the cause he was desperate to remedy the situation. His eyes blearily searched the room, looking for a source of the problem, but there was nothing but painfully white walls. What was this place? He took a sharp breath in to try and quell his anxiety, inhaling the sour antiseptic smell he associated with doctors and pain, his nose wrinkling away as the chemical miasmas accosted his weakened senses. As he choked on the overwhelming stench, gasping for air, something in his brain seemed to clunk heavily into place; doctors meant safety, aid, care. Someone to help.

As soon as he made this connection he searched for some means by which to attract attention, his bleary eyes falling upon the small aid buzzer beside his own bed. Booth reached out and pressed the call button, his concerned eyes only leaving Brennan's face to ensure the little red bulb at the top of the remote flicked on. He whispered her name again, watching in confusion, his head spinning. Was he awake? Was this still some drug-induced hallucination? It must be. The universe could not be so cruel as to keep battering at one already so broken. Booth watched with helpless eyes as Brennan rolled to her side, rocking herself like a child with pathetic whimpers bubbling from her lips.  
'Bones,' he called again, his weak voice somehow attracting her attention. Their eyes meet for a fleeting second. She looked so scared, all he wanted to do was gather her broken body up in his embrace and guard her from whatever was causing her pain. The sheer terror in her eyes made him reach out a hand, suppressing a grimace as the shards of pain seemed to jut further into his body, and try to grasp her own.

Before he could reach further than her stiff sheets, however, a matronly old nurse strode into the room, her shoes clicking against the linoleum. Her patient smile was in place, the beginning of a seemingly habitual act she had long since perfected for her job.  
'Good to see you are awake, Mr Booth…' She began. She looked ready to dive into a speech of some sort, no doubt trying to calm who she expected to be a very disorientated man. Conversely she became the one who felt muddled with confusion, when she saw the man shaking his head, pointing a shaky hand not at himself, but to the woman occupying the bed next to him.

Booth relaxed slightly upon seeing the woman comprehend, watching her see Brennan and swoop down on her like a mother bird upon its chirping chick. She pressed a pager at her hip, before reaching out to Brennan, asking a flurry of questions to try and find out what was wrong. Booth couldn't follow, her voice was just one agitated stream of noise; he was grateful, though, because that sound meant help for Bones. Catching a glimpse of Brennan's face beneath the nurse's arm, he saw she had raised her walls once again. None of that vulnerability was visible anymore, just a steely and inexpressive façade. He felt perplexed- Brennan wasn't always forthcoming with her emotions, but he thought she knew better than to mask her pain from a nurse trying to help and assess her.

The door swung open again and a youthful man in a crisp white doctor's coat strode in, his face business-like as he moved to the opposite side of Brennan's bed that the nurse. He scanned his eyes across the monitors at the bedside, before dropping them down to his patient's face.  
'What's causing the problem, Ms Brennan?' He said in a kindly voice, as he flicked a drip to ensure it was still dribbling at the appropriate rate.  
'Stomach.' She said tightly, briefly wincing her eyes shut before forcing the pain behind her mask once again. The doctor placed a gentle hand against her forehead, frowning slightly at the heat he felt there.  
'Jacqueline,' he addressed the woman across from him, 'how are the wounds holding up? Any sign of infection?'  
'No sir, we've kept a very close eye on these two,' she gestured at the two patients in the room, 'and I personally changed Ms Brennan's bandages not two hours ago. The lacerations seemed as well as they could be, given the circumstances.' The doctor's brain appeared to be whizzing, as he filtered through the possible causes, mentally narrowing down the list. He quickly picked up Brennan's file from its holder at the end of the bed, flicking through the pages trying to find a hint. He lingered on one paragraph, before looking back to his patient.  
'You've told us, Ms Brennan, that while you were held hostage you were fed minimal food?' The doctor asked with smooth professionalism, not showing the slightest shake in his façade despite the touchy subject matter. At Brennan's nod he continued, 'What were you provided with to drink?'  
'Water, but I didn't touch very much of it in case they'd laced it with something.' Booth, still listening from the other side of the room, felt a small surge of pride at Brennan's good sense.  
'Was it clean? Or did it seem unsanitary?'  
'I couldn't really see, in the dark…' Brennan trailed off, her eyes seeming hollow and unseeing for a moment, before she exhaled and drew her eyes back up to the doctor. 'You seem to be formulating a diagnosis?'  
'Are you familiar with _Helicobacter pylori_?' Brennan opened her mouth to respond, but instead sucked in a gasp of air as her hands curled into tight little fists. She gave a nod instead, concentrating her efforts on containing her pain. The doctor gave a small sigh, his eyes full of sympathy at his patient's discomfort.  
'This is why we insist upon the prescribed dosages of painkillers and antibiotics, Ms Brennan.' He said with a gentle tone holding an underlying firmness, as he slid Brennan's file back in place. Out of the corner of her eye, Brennan saw Booth turn a face filled with confusion and concern towards her, and she quickly averted her gaze up to her doctor's face as he talked.  
'I believe you may have contracted this bacterium from your drinking water, and without the full dose of antibiotics it seems a stomach ulcer may have formed. I'll have to go prep for some tests for you just to be sure; I'll be back for you as soon as we're ready.' She gave one last nod of comprehension, and as soon as he and the nurse had left the room she drooped back against the pillows once more.

Her eyes were closed, her forehead furrowed as she felt Booth's gaze on her like a spotlight.  
'Don't look at me like that, Booth.' She murmured, slowly opening her eyes to meet his. They were filled with confusion, hurt, worry- all those emotions that she knew she would find there. Only moments ago she had got Booth back, properly awake and proving to her that he was going to be okay. It was distressing seeing him so openly distraught so soon after this elation, to have her joy at his recovery hindered by his obvious heartache.  
'Why..?' His raspy voice trailed off; he did not even know what to ask. After all she had been through, she was depriving herself of the relief that she deserved, which was perfectly accessible, for absolutely no discernable reason.  
'I… I couldn't.' Brennan feebly responded, looking down at her hands and with sombre detachment marvelling at their frailness.  
'I still don't understand, Bones.' His voice held more strength now, his gaze more intensity as he continued to look straight at Brennan's face. He knew she was getting uncomfortable, but still he persisted.

'I couldn't let myself, not with you lying there, without knowing you were going to be alright.' Booth just stared. Brennan felt a flicker of anger in her chest, as yet another of her friends dismissed a decision that to her seemed logical and necessary; she returned his persistent gaze with equal fervour, finally letting her frustration batter through her façade into the outside world.  
'What would you have done? Your own stubbornness and insatiable need to _protect me_,' she spat scathingly, 'would have meant you would have done the same thing. You _have _done the same thing, discharging yourself from hospital the last time I was kidnapped-' she cut off abruptly. Her eyes were dark and surly, her breath gasping lightly. Her thoughts had whirled miles away when she realised the truth behind what she had flippantly said, what it meant for her. Kidnap- it was the stuff of her novels, not something that actual people should go through. But she had. Twice. If she had been the type to have believed in karma, she would have thought she must have done something horrible for which she was now atoning. Things just kept happening, again and again, knocking down her self confidence and strength. Normally she felt like she could recover, perhaps a little battered, but she had always got up and soldiered on. But this time she felt broken, tired.

Now she was lying incapacitated in a hospital bed, her mind addled with irrational thoughts and emotions, experiencing the rare but chagrining feeling that she had done something incredibly stupid. She couldn't have felt less like herself if she had tried. Another acute stab of pain brought her back to the present, back to the haunting gaze of her partner. A shiver of relief ran up her spine again, just from seeing his eyes open, seeing him alert and lucid and caring once more. The simplest things now seemed amplified, now that the extremes of the last few weeks had finally, _finally_ ceased in the return of Booth's consciousness. The enormity of the situation she had found herself in had been all-consuming, blotting out her normal life in a cloud of sheer terror and agonising pain. The tempest of a life endangering experience had roared about her, dulling her senses to anything beyond its strength.

Now, in the silent, empty husks left behind by her trauma, the smallest things were most obvious. Basic emotions ran rampant around her mind, intermingled and confusing, lacking her usual orderly control over such thoughts. Lingering fear from the attack that never seemed to stop haunting the dark recesses of her mind, worry for not only her own wellbeing but that of Booth, guilt over dragging him into the heavy mess that she thought was buried in her childhood. Now added to that broiling mixture was a wearying relief that he was alright, and a desperate longing to leave this blackest of times behind and just escape, just forget, simply blank out this last week and retire back into a life of normalcy. But that would never happen. This would haunt her forever. Her body mangled and scarred, an outward manifestation of the grotesque muddle that her emotions had morphed into.

And now her rock, the one constant in her life who had promised to always help and be there for her, was staring down upon her with unforgiving disgust. Tears stung at her eyes, but as much as she longed to turn away Booth would not drop his gaze, his intense eyes refusing to break contact. She was convinced he would come and physically shake her for her stupidity, if he were able to rise; such was the strength of the ire in his eyes. Her humiliation was growing, and with it her confusion from her total unfamiliarity with this feeling of inadequacy in his presence. She had never felt so belittled since she left the foster care system that stained her childhood, finding strength and liberation in relying solely upon her own wits and her own skills. She had made sure she was capable, more than capable, until she was the best that was possible. She was loathe to ever be in that situation of weakness again, finding solace in her successes, proving to herself that she was so much more than the feeble and broken child that the foster system had spat out into the world.

Booth had come into her world, grudgingly respectful of the work that she did and the power that her observations held in solving cases. Their relationship had bloomed into mutual respect and amity, and she had finally let herself think that she had met someone different. He didn't challenge her authority, didn't doubt what she said. For once it had been almost effortless to convince another of her worth, but now it seemed that the esteem in which she had been held had irreparably diminished as Booth too joined the ranks of those who found her to be an utter disappointment.

She floundered, her mouth trying to form words but her mind not knowing what to say, how to phrase her thoughts in some way that they could be forgivable, or at least understandable. The door flew open once more, a nurse swirling around Booth's bed preparing to take some initial tests after his awakening. Still their eyes did not break apart. With a rough rattle of plastic curtain rings the nurse yanked the hospital curtain behind Booth's bed out to full extension, moving to next pull across the one between their beds.  
'I'm sorry.' She whispered, never averting her eyes away from Booth, feeling a hot tear drip down her jaw onto her arm. The curtain was ruthlessly whipped shut, cutting him off from her sights. The connection broken, a ship cut loose from its mooring and cast out into a rough sea, her mind whirled from all that had transpired.

She had taken for granted that Booth would be the same man he always was when he woke back up. Even in the deep sleep of his coma she had gazed at his face, seeing the same gentle features that had smiled at her, cared for her, imagining them animated and loving once more. But, just as she felt exhausted, pushed past the brink by this final assault on her body, this must have also been the final straw that broke Booth's unwavering patience. Her heart shrivelled as she melted back into her bed, wishing it would engulf her ungrateful body away from the world. What she had taken for nobility was truly stupidity, an insult to the tireless work that Booth had put into locating her, rescuing her, and finally sacrificing himself to ensure she was protected.

_As long as I'm keeping you safe, you will never have to worry about being unwanted._ He had told her as she clung to him, shivering in his embrace in the dank darkness of the warehouse, willing to provide her with anything that she needed to be safe. She had entrusted herself to his care, care he was so willing to give. But then to betray that, to throw his aid back in his face by refusing to recover when health was finally an attainable goal, was unforgiveable. She didn't deserve that unwavering faith; she could not blame him for backing away from her now. Keeping someone safe relied upon them being willing to be saved, and her stubbornness had got in the way of this submission, this one simple task that she needed to do in order to be granted Booth's undying protection. She didn't deserve to be wanted anymore, not when she couldn't reciprocate the love that Booth selflessly gave her.

Love. He had told her, finally put into words the years of dancing, of skirting the issue which electrified their relationship. Did he even remember those final words, the sentiments he was so desperate to share in the throes of death? It didn't seem that way. Maybe it was better that way, less complicated if he wanted to sever ties with her. Not that she would let it come to that confrontation, no, she would not make him lower himself to have to spell it out to her. Instinctively she knew that it was best to just go, to back out quietly and unobtrusively; probably from a childhood of being that unwanted child, learning from experience that it was often better for her to take refuge in her room with a book rather than bother the reams of apathetic parents she was shuffled between. It would be hard, so very hard, to extract herself from this man; he was one of a select few she had permitted herself to become close to. To disentangle herself from Booth would take effort, would wrench her heart. She longed to break down at the prospect, to cry, to drop the draining masks of emotional disinterest and incapability; but now nurses were swarming in her room again, preparing to take her away to test for the cause of her crippling pain. Later, perhaps, when she was alone, she could indulge this weakness. But for now she was Temperance Brennan, world renowned forensic anthropologist and author, recognisable by her steely professionalism and limited by emotional incapability. Limited.

**Another step in the slow development of Brennan into a human beyond the genius we know and love. Brace yourselves, though, for the most colossal of misunderstandings between our lovers-to-be-if-I-don't-go-into-another-writer-coma. I want to move away from the mental stuff a little, I know it can be a bit of a saga to get through and digest, but since so much has happened it kind of feels contrived to make anything else go on. But I'll figure something out, if you have a suggestion let me know!**

**I've missed hearing from you lovelies, so send off a review if that tickles your fancy! I'll try to update sooner, but for me quality is a big thing, so I'm not going to churn out something quickly if I think it sucks (Exhibit A, above). Everyone who reviews is overwhelmingly wonderful, so if I've never replied or thanked you this is my official THANK YOU SO MUCH for your kind, kind words.**


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